


Of Werewolves And Superheroes

by FelOllie



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hale-McCall Pack, In later chapters - Freeform, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-02-14 10:01:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 41,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2187552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FelOllie/pseuds/FelOllie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A string of murders in Starling City leads to Felicity pulling a Stiles and correctly guessing that some seriously supernatural shit is going down. </p><p>Always one to hate mysteries, Felicity does as much research as she can on the subject. In her quest for knowledge, and mostly thanks to her hella awesome hacking skills, Felicity comes across a website that is supposed to be hidden, tucked away into the darkest recesses of the internet. The site is encrypted, all of its information unreadable without the multiple passwords set up to protect it. </p><p>From anyone but Felicity, that is. </p><p>OR: The one in which Felicity figures out that werewolves are a thing, Stiles, Derek, and Isaac head to Starling City to figure out who hacked their database, and Oliver wonders when exactly he lost control of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Ribbon Killer

**Author's Note:**

> Hey lovelies!
> 
> So, this fic might be a teensy bit cracky in some places but it's utterly self-indulgent and I kind of adore it. Updates will be staggered and unscheduled but they'll be there as long as there's interest :)
> 
> As always: If you need me to tag something please, please, _please_ DO NOT hesitate to let me know!

"This is the sixth murder in eight days, Oliver." Felicity sat at her desk in the Foundry, fingertips tapping away at her keyboard as she sorted through the file on who the police had quietly dubbed the Ribbon Killer.

The name made the murders sound a whole lot less gruesome and violent than they were, but if you knew the meaning behind it... Well, not so much. The special task force created to hunt the Ribbon Killer named the psycho as such because each body had been found with its flesh torn to ribbons, entire stretches and strips of skin and flesh missing. The SCPD had yet to disclose any information to the general public but, thanks to Felicity's nearly unrivaled skills, Team Arrow had all the information they needed. Well, more than they wanted, really. Felicity would never get the crime scene photographs out of her head. There was something about a dead body with its face torn off that had a way of sticking with you.

"I know." Oliver came up behind her chair, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at the screen of her computer. "Have you found anything that might help us find this guy?"

"First of all, we don't know for sure it's a man. Women can be crazy serial killers, too." Felicity chided, squinting up at Oliver for a beat, before returning her attention to her monitors. "And Second... No. I'm still sorting through the new evidence, though."

"Whoever this is, they're escalating." Digg tossed over his shoulder at them from where he was sparring on a mat with Roy.

"Three kills in two days?" Roy snorted, trying to sweep Digg's legs out from beneath him while he wasn't paying attention and failing spectacularly. "Yeah, I'd say that's an escalation."

"Sara asked Nyssa about it." Oliver volunteered. "She said she's never seen anything like this, either."

"Huh." Felicity frowned, "You'd think that, as an assassin trained in all the ways to kill you and make it as painful as possible, Nyssa would have some insight."

"These aren't typical kills, Felicity." Oliver leaned against the edge of her desk with his hip, legs crossed at the ankles. "These murders are brutal. Savage, even. I don't think anyone with a shred of sanity could have insight into this."

"Fair enough." Felicity nodded, ignoring the thwack of skin on vinyl when Digg knocked Roy flat on his back. "Look, why don't you guys head home for the night. I'll stay here and see what I can come up with. If I find anything, I'll call you."

Oliver shook his head immediately. "I'll stay here with you. We can order in, work on figuring this out together."

"You don't have to do that." Felicity tried to protest.

"I know that I don't have to." Oliver dropped a hand to her shoulder, smiling down at her when she leaned her head back onto the headrest. "I want to. I don't feel comfortable leaving you here, alone. Not with what's going on out there."

"Okay." Felicity conceded. "I'm going to have to take a rain check on dinner, though. I'm not sure I'm ever going to be able to eat food again." She made a face, her nose crinkling in disgust as she tipped her head at the screen, still showing images of crime scenes.

Oliver chuckled, unable to help himself. "No dinner, then. Coffee is still allowed, right?"

Felicity grinned, her painted lips turning up. "Coffee is always allowed. Hell, it's a basic requirement."

 

*

 

The pack laid around the living room of the long ago rebuilt Hale house, all of them sprawled out in random positions, some of which really shouldn't be comfortable but somehow seemed to be. Scott was asleep on the floor, smooshed in between Isaac and Allison, his legs in a messy tangle with Isaac's, his arms wrapped around Allison's waist and his head in her lap. Lydia and Jackson were curled together on the recliner in one corner of the room, Lydia fast asleep with her face buried in Jackson's neck. Erica was laying on her back on the floor, her legs hooked over the front of the loveseat so that her feet rested in Boyd's lap. Danny sat cross-legged on the couch, his laptop open and resting on his thighs while Peter sat at the opposite end, engrossed in a book. Stiles stood in the doorway between the living room and the foyer, leaning against the door frame and watching his pack with a calm, settled feeling coiled warmly in his belly.

"Hey." Derek's gentle voice reached Stiles' ears and sent a shiver down his spine.

"Hey." Stiles smiled, leaning back into Derek's chest as the other man's arms came around his waist. "How'd it go?"

"Good. Your dad wanted me to remind you that we're supposed to show up for dinner tomorrow night." Derek hooked his chin over Stiles' shoulder so that he could look in on his pack.

Lydia snuffled in her sleep, shifting against Jackson's throat and dragging a soft smile to his lips.

"That man has no faith in me. He texted me the exact same thing this morning." Stiles huffed, threading his fingers through Derek's where they lay just above his belt. "So, you found the kid?"

"Yeah. She was wandering around one of the paths up by the river. She's shaken up but Melissa said she was physically fine." Derek turned Stiles in his arms, capturing his lips in a hello kiss.

Stiles hummed contentedly into the kiss, his tongue darting out to flick at Derek's bottom lip where his teeth had nipped. "I'll take a werewolf over a bloodhound, any day of the week." Stiles grinned, pulling back to meet Derek's pale green eyes, temporarily ensnared by the ring of almost-red around his pupils.

Derek chuffed a laugh. "One wolf in particular, I hope."

"Shh." Stiles pressed a finger to Derek's lips. "Don't let the pups hear you say that. Erica will rip out my spleen if you make me choose a favorite."

"He's not wrong." Erica called from the floor, her voice carrying enough for Stiles to hear it.

"Come on, guys. We all know McCall is Stiles' favorite." Jackson threw in, quietly enough to not startle Lydia.

"Wrong." Danny shook his head, eyes still fixed on his laptop. "Totally Derek."

Peter hummed his agreement with Danny, his eyes never leaving the pages of his book.

"It's obviously Erica." Boyd shrugged, making Erica preen.

"Isaac." Allison smiled sweetly, running her fingers through a softly snoring Scott's hair. "It's definitely Isaac."

"See what you started?" Stiles sighed, jabbing Derek in the chest with his finger. "You think you'd have learned after the last time. If this devolves into werewolf wrestling, you get to play ref. I'm not losing another pair of jeans to my own pack. I still haven't finished rebuilding my wardrobe from the salamander incident."

"I tried to tell you to stay out of that." Derek reminded him, his thumbs stroking at the skin at Stiles' hips, having slipped beneath the fabric of his shirt.

"Yeah, yeah. What else is new?" Stiles dismissed that with a wave. "Come on." He tugged Derek toward the kitchen. "You can watch me cook you a proper hero's meal."

"I'm not a hero, Stiles." Derek grumbled, the tips of his ears turning pink like they did every time Stiles called him that. "All I did was follow a scent."

"Shut up, Derek." Stiles smirked, letting it drop and changing the subject. "What do you want? Golabki or burgers?"

Derek just stared at him, his expression bland.

"Yeah, okay. Dumb question." Stiles laughed, digging through the refrigerator to find the head of cabbage.

 

*

 

Felicity yawned and rubbed at her eyes, her glasses tossed on the desk beside her keyboard, as she tried to force back the headache taking shape beneath her brows. She took a moment to let her eyes drift over Oliver where he was stretched out on the roll-away bed they kept for occasions like these. He was fast asleep, face turned toward her, his mouth fixed in a frown even while resting. Felicity smiled slightly, letting the swell of affection warm her chest before she went back to work.

Two hours later and Felicity found herself with more questions than answers. For instance, why did the medical examiner find avian DNA in the wounds on each victim? He'd even gone so far as to say the damage to their bodies had been caused, at least in part, by some kind of large predatory bird. There was definitive evidence that all six victims had had their jugular pierced by what appeared to be a beak before being mauled by what could only be described as talons. Another thing all six victims had in common was that each of them showed signs of internal collapse, their organs, bones, and even their circulatory system having caved inward, as though sucked into a vacuum. The almost complete lack of blood was pretty much expected at that point.

These murders made all of zero sense. There was, so far, no connection between victims, nothing to shed light on how the killer was choosing targets. Add in the bit about the large bird of prey as an apparent accomplice and Felicity was utterly baffled.

The details niggled at something at the edge of Felicity's brain, sparking to life vague recollections of something she couldn't quite pull to the surface. Shaking off the eerie feeling and reminding herself that she wasn't alone in the lair, Felicity typed all of the information she had into a search program that used an algorithm to scan the internet and multiple databases for anything resembling the details she gathered. Leaving the program to do its job, Felicity pushed away from her desk in order to refill her mug from the coffee pot in the little kitchenette she'd insisted they needed.

By the time she returned to her desk and finished a second cup of coffee, Felicity was lost in sorting through the data her program compiled. She spent the next three hours sifting through everything, trying to decide what was relevant and what had no bearing on the case. The further into the internet she got, the more Felicity's skin prickled with awareness, like something was staring her right in the face but she was still managing to miss it.

The search program pinged back, one last scrap of information before it restarted its search. Felicity pulled up the last result, her brow furrowing as she read. Most of the information on the page was encrypted, which only served to further baffle Felicity since her program shouldn't have flagged the page at all. She wondered if the algorithm had picked up one of its search parameters in the encryption code itself.

Determined to figure out why, Felicity back-traced the site, finding it tucked away in the darkest recesses of the internet where no one but a skilled computer expert would know where, or even how, to look for it. There were several layers of security, more than a few hoops for Felicity to have to jump through since she didn't have any of the required passwords or command prompts.

It was nearly 6 am by the time she managed to figure out what had triggered her program, and almost 7 when the shocked gasp left her lips.

"What's wrong?" Oliver's sleep roughed, honey-over-gravel voice asked as he stirred awake.

"Nothing." Felicity answered immediately, minimizing the windows on her monitor. "Or, well, nothing yet. I might have found something but I have to do some more research."

Oliver frowned, pushing his shirtless form up out of the bed and shuffling toward Felicity. "Did you sleep at all?"

"No. I got caught up in trying to figure this out. I'm fine though. Go shower and get dressed." Felicity shooed him towards the bathroom. "Digg and Roy will be here soon and you have a mission to prep for."

Oliver's frown deepened, his sleepy eyes roving over Felicity's face. "You sure you're okay?"

"I'm good." she promised. "A quick nap while you guys prep and I'll be good to go by the time you're ready to head out."

Oliver looked like he might argue but after a second's hesitation he turned and made his way toward the bathroom. When the door clicked shut behind him, Felicity dove back into action and started working on a plan.

 

*

 

"Answer your phone." Derek growled, kicking at Stiles' legs under the sheet.

Stiles kicked back, muttering nonsensically under his breath as he struggled back to the land of the awake and aware. The phone stopped ringing, lulling Stiles into a false sense of security. The second he relaxed back into the mattress, his phone blared back to life.

"Someone better be dead." Stiles muttered darkly, untangling his limbs from around Derek's and rolling sideways to snatch the offending device from the nightstand. Answering, he pressed it to his ear. "Danny, I swear to God-"

When Stiles cut off abruptly, his heartbeat kicking up, Derek tuned his hearing into the conversation.

"-don't know how they managed it, Stiles. I woke up to a security alert. Whoever it is, they're good, man. No one should be able to breech the site." Danny was panicked, his worry carrying clearly, even through the phone.

Derek sat up so fast he dislodged the sheet from around his hips. If Stiles wasn't busy internally freaking out he might have noticed his very naked boyfriend had unintentionally put his flawless body on display.

"You said that there was no way for this to happen!" Derek snapped, not even feeling guilty when Stiles flinched.

"I don't know what happened. It should be impossible." Danny insisted, having heard Derek's angry voice through the phone.

"Can you find them?" Stiles tried, running a hand over his face in frustration. He didn't need to have the wolves' senses to know that Derek was furious. Rightfully so, but still.

"They're in California, north of us. I'm trying to narrow it down now." Danny assured, his tone still thick with anxiety.

"Find them." Derek growled, this time less sleepy-woken-by-a-ringing-telephone and more find-them-so-I-can-rip-their-throat-out.

Ending the call and dropping the phone on the bed beside him, Stiles buried his head in his hands. "Don't." he gritted out.

"You promised me, Stiles." Derek said, anger vibrating off his skin. Stiles guessed that the rest of the pack , at least those in the house, were already moving around in their rooms, responding to their Alpha's anger. "You _swore_ to me that no one would find that stupid fucking website."

"I know." Stiles snapped and then sighed, lifting his head to meet Derek's eyes, glowing red. "I'm sorry, okay? I don't know how they got through."

"This puts not just us, but all of the packs in danger. Everyone with a connection to us is now in danger _because_ of us." Derek snarled.

Stiles knew Derek was right. It had been Stiles' genius idea to insist they needed a website to keep in contact with, and keep track of, the sprawling network of supernatural badassery that they worked hard to establish. Allied packs and their emissaries, Argent hunters who followed the code Allison initiated, Covens and independent practitioners of magic who the packs knew they could trust (by Derek or Scott's approval only), members of law enforcement who were in the supernatural know, and the occasional supernatural being (banshees, fae, and the like) who had proven themselves loyal to the cause and general supernatural knowledge they'd acquired over the years. Information on all of them was contained in the database, an online beastiary of sorts, accessible to each of them so long as they had the passwords to bypass security. And, every single one of them were now in danger. Whoever had hacked their database managed to put an entire faction of the supernatural community in danger, maybe without even realizing they'd done it.

Stiles prayed that they didn't know what they'd done. If someone who knew about werewolves and the supernatural was behind this, if they genuinely wanted to hurt Stiles' pack or any of the rest of them, Stiles had practically handed them the key to achieving that goal, held up on a silver platter and tied with a shiny red bow.

"We need to fix this." Derek said between clenched teeth.

"We will. Danny's working on finding them as we speak. We'll figure it out, Derek." Stiles insisted.

Derek could smell regret and anxiety rolling off of Stiles, clinging to the air around him. He could hear Stiles' heart thumping guiltily in his chest, feel its heavy thrum. Rationally speaking, Derek knew it was just as much his fault as it was Stiles'. After all, he'd been the one to agree to let it happen. He and Scott had agreed that as long as Stiles and Danny could keep the site hidden from prying eyes, it was actually a good idea. Being able to keep careful records of every and all supernatural encounters, be it by their pack or one of the others, being able to instantly share information made it that much easier to protect themselves and their territories. So, the database had gone live. If he were thinking about it, the site had been up for almost five years without incident. Which lent itself to what Stiles and Danny both kept repeating about the site being safe from outsiders.

"Call the pack." Derek commanded, turning on his heel and stalking away without another word.

Stiles watched him go, his chest aching with the strength of the emotions rolling through the mate bond. Being an Alpha's mate, even in an unconventional pack such as theirs, as well as being innately magical, meant that Stiles felt the bonds, pack and mate, more intensely than the rest of the pack. Human, wolf, or banshee, an Alpha's mate got the brunt of it when emotions ran rampant within the pack. Stiles' inherent magic made the bond a tangible web that he could see, each thread a different shimmering colored line connecting one pack member to another. It also meant that unless he were shielding, Stiles felt even small shifts in emotions. Powerful emotions, such as anger or rage, hit Stiles more sharply than they hit the others.

Derek was a strong broadcaster. Even after almost four years together Stiles still had trouble shielding with Derek. Lydia thought it was because Derek and he were too intertwined to separate themselves completely. Stiles was pretty sure she might be right. Even before they'd solidified the mate bond Stiles had been able to read Derek better than anyone else. It was a talent of his, apparently.

After sending out a quick text to Scott, summoning him to the house, Stiles forced himself out of bed and into the shower. He spent the entirety of the fifteen minute shower bouncing back and forth between berating himself for not doing enough to protect the database and being hurt and angry at the way Derek reacted to the breech.

Dressed and still buzzing with emotional overflow, Stiles made his way down to the kitchen, dragging Erica along with him when he caught her on the stairs. When she arched a quizzical brow at him Stiles tried to smile when he answered, "Breakfast before battle plans."


	2. Blood And Lilacs

One of the allied packs was closest to Starling city, the location Danny had managed to trace the hack back to. They were a relatively small pack, only consisting of three betas and an Alpha, and their territory kissed the back line of Starling City's border. Their Alpha, a hell on heels kind of woman named Kiara, decided to grant the Hale-McCall pack access to her territory, pledging the assistance of her pack should the situation necessitate it.

The string of murders in Starling City over the last week or so had her pack on edge. Given that, she was more than happy to have a friendly pack around to add to their number. One of Kiara's men on the inside of the SCPD had promised her that, while the murders were definitely the work of something supernatural, none of the human officers had managed to figure that out. The SCPD's head honcho, Captain Lance, had chalked it all up to a particularly brutal and sadistic killer of the human variety.

Derek wasn't interested in the murders if he was being completely honest. He just wanted to figure out who hacked the database and why. Danny and Stiles both swore up and down that it should be impossible to hack, that anyone who even looked at it, if they somehow managed to stumble across it, wouldn't be able to make heads or tails of the encryption code.

Derek wanted to know who in the world was capable of accomplishing the impossible. Other than Stiles, anyway.

Scott and Derek decided that the entire pack didn't need to take the trip, a six hour drive north, since they were only tracking the hacker and they couldn't very well leave Beacon Hills unprotected. If they found the hacker to be a legitimate threat the remainder of the pack would make the trip after making arrangements with Chris Argent to run point on protection detail until they got back. Scott insisted that Isaac accompany Derek north, a request that went unchallenged.

"No." Derek shook his head in denial at the same moment Stiles opened his mouth, cutting him off before he could offer his own services.

"Wha- Why?" Stiles asked, eyes widening in surprise. Derek never stepped foot outside Beacon Hills' borders without Stiles by his side.

"We don't need two Alpha mates out of the territory." Derek hedged, close enough to a genuine concern to pass as truth even to the wolves.

The same could not be said for Stiles.

"Bullshit." Stiles snorted angrily. "Allison will still be here. She and Scott are more than capable of leading and caring for the pack without you, me, or Isaac around. Besides, you need someone with tech knowledge on hand, just in case."

"He has a point, Derek. " Scott interjected reluctantly.

Stiles smiled at his best friend, once again thankful that Scott always had his back.

"As an added bonus, I happen to be magically inclined. You know, in case you've forgotten." Stiles snarked. When he felt a frisson of worry ripple through their bond, Stiles thought he might have an idea why Derek was so reluctant. "This is my mess to clean up. I'm the one who fucked up, okay? Let me help fix it." he added, the sarcastic edge gone from his voice, replaced by something softer and more pleading.

Derek hesitated but asked, "What if-"

"Kiara isn't going to hurt me, Derek." Stiles promised, confident that he was right. "She and the pack have been allies far too long for that. She knows better than most that we clean up the messes we make." When Derek remained silent, Stiles pulled out the big guns. "If you go, I go." he murmured, reminding Derek of a vow they'd made to one another in a moment of awful clarity, a moment in which neither of them had been sure they'd be coming back and having wholly recognized the fact that neither of them wanted to if the other wasn't firmly by his side.

There was a tense silence in which Stiles worried that Derek might argue again. Instead, he snapped out a short, "Fine." and scowled at Stiles for the remainder of the meeting.

Scowling from Derek, Stiles could deal with. Angry Derek was practically a default setting. But, that didn't mean that Stiles was immune when that temper was genuinely directed at him.

Derek tended to adopt a reluctantly amused, exasperatedly fond attitude when dealing with Stiles. It took a hell of a lot of pushing for Stiles to make Derek truly pissed off with him now and days. Having the full force of that anger directed at him for the first time in ages made Stiles' nerves itch with the desire to fix it, in any way he could.

Danny set his laptop on the table, open to a map of Starling City. He dragged a tablet from his bag and pulled up a tracking program. "Alright, here's what I've found."

 

*

 

Danny wasn't able to pinpoint where exactly the hacker was located, but did manage to narrow it down to a ten square block radius of Starling City in an area known as the Glades. It was mostly warehouses and abandoned buildings, save for one section that housed a nightclub.

The entire drive up to Starling City, Derek remained mostly quiet. As usual, Stiles babbled to fill the silence, dragging Isaac into random conversations about anything and everything he could think of. He even managed to draw an occasional grunted response from Derek.

"You know, Starling City has its own Batman." Stiles informed them. "Or, Batman type guy anyway. He goes by the Arrow."

Derek made a derisive sound in the back of his throat.

Stiles ignored him. "I guess it goes without saying that a compound bow is his weapon of choice. He's some kind of master marksman with the thing, too. From the reports that I've found, he never misses unless he means to."

"No way he's a better shot than Allison." Isaac smirked from the backseat of Derek's soccer mom SUV.

"Dude, no one is a better shot than Allison." Stiles assured him. "Doesn't it make you wonder, though? I mean, he has to know about the murders. There's no way that he doesn't. Do you think he's realized there's something fishy going on? Maybe we should-"

"No." Derek cut him off.

"You don't even know what I was going to say!" Stiles turned in his seat, facing Derek more directly.

"We are only doing this to find out who hacked the database, Stiles." Derek reminded him. "We're not going to Starling City to investigate the murders, do you hear me? They're Kiara's problem, not ours."

"But, Derek, what if we can help?" Stiles pressed.

"No one's asked for our help, Stiles. Why do you want to go looking for trouble?" Derek glanced at him before sliding his eyes back to the road.

Stiles narrowed his eyes at Derek, entertaining the idea of arguing but decided against it. There was no longer anger vibrating through their bond and Stiles really wasn't in any hurry to bring it back, so he let it go.

"Fine. You're right." Stiles relented. Derek smirked and Stiles could feel the smugness bleeding through him. "Asshole." he muttered under his breath.

Derek ignored that, instead taking one hand off the wheel and tangling his fingers with Stiles'.

 

*

 

"No, Stiles. We're not going clubbing. Focus." Derek rolled his eyes.

"Jesus. Am I going to get to do _anything_ I want to do while we're here?" Stiles huffed.

"No." Derek and Isaac responded in unison.

Stiles turned his back on their grinning faces, returning his attention to the giant foundry-turned-nightclub they were supposed to be scouting, grumbling under his breath about pain in the ass werewolves and fruitless recon missions. They'd already combed over six square blocks, finding nothing, and Stiles would be lying if he said he wasn't growing exceedingly frustrated with every block they covered.

The trio made their way closer to the warehouse, Derek's senses on high alert. He could hear music pumping out from the open club door, the scent of sex and sweat and alcohol wafting from within and setting both wolves on edge, their instincts lighting up with the heady scents. Stiles shivered, his skin warming with the pulse of heat that carried through the bond.

As they reached the far west side of the building, Derek caught a different scent permeating the air around the repurposed foundry. There was a distinctly feminine edge to the smell, something akin to lilacs and champagne and sunlight. Considering the place was being used as a nightclub it wasn't all that unusual a smell. Or, wouldn't have been if it weren't a fresh trail, something that stirred up when the wind blew. Derek probably wouldn't have thought twice about it had it not been tinged with blood and anxiety.

"What is it?" Stiles asked, immediately picking up on the shift in Derek's energy.

"Blood." Isaac answered, catching the scent.

"It's a female but I can't tell exactly where it's coming from." Derek lifted his nose, inhaling more deeply to try and pinpoint a location.

Stiles, never one to walk away from a potentially dangerous situation, insisted they investigate. "What if she's in real trouble, Derek? She might need help." he pushed, turning wide whiskey eyes on Derek.

Of course Derek agreed. Partially because he had a weakness for those eyes when they went all soft and pleading, and partially because if someone was in trouble Derek didn't have it in him to walk away. An immediate and obvious situation was a far cry from getting wrapped up in an existing investigation, after all. There was someone nearby who was radiating fear and anxiety. That wasn't something they could just turn a blind eye to.

Derek sent Isaac to scout out the perimeter of the building, to see if he could find out where the scent led. "Just circle the building and see what you can find. If you find something, come get me before you do anything else."

With a nod, Isaac loped off.

Stiles and Derek made their way into the club, sliding onto stools at the bar. Stiles ordered a drink and Derek scented the air as surreptitiously as he could, nose lifted just slightly. There was an underlying tang of blood beneath the typical club scents but Derek's senses were overwhelmed. Between the pounding music, the flashing lights, and the vast array of scents, he couldn't get a lock on any one thing in particular.

"I'll be right back." Stiles said suddenly, his lips close to Derek's ear to be sure he could be heard.

"Where are you going?" Derek's brows drew together.

"I'm just going to the bathroom. Stay here and wait for Isaac." Stiles squeezed Derek's forearm reassuringly before he slipped off his stool.

"Keep your eyes open." Derek reminded him, trailing his hand over the back of Stiles' neck before he could move away.

"I will." Stiles promised and then blended into the crowd.

The second Stiles was out of site Derek tensed. He focused on the mate bond, knowing that it would let him know if Stiles were in danger well before his eyes would. That was half of the bonds purpose, after all, to keep a wolf tuned into their mate even across long distances.

Five minutes passed with Derek nursing Stiles' drink and covertly casting a watchful eye around him. He stood, restless energy making him too agitated to sit still. He had just cleared the edge of the bar, gaze sweeping the edges of the club, when he caught a flash of movement in his periphery, a flail of limbs and a glimpse of blue that disappeared behind a door. Simultaneously, Derek felt a wave of fear that didn't come from himself flaring in his chest.

"Shit." he muttered, shoving his way through the crowd and heading toward where he'd seen Stiles disappear.

He ducked down a hallway to the right of the bar, following the scent of Stiles and panic through a door that opened into an alleyway. Before Derek even stepped over the threshold and into the alley he was greeted by the scent of gunpowder, pepper, and molasses. On the opposite side of the alley Derek found a massive wall of dark-skinned man, taller and wider than even Boyd, pressing Stiles into a brick wall with his arms twisted up uncomfortably against his back.

Derek growled, the low, menacing sound that normally scared humans into backing the fuck off. Except the guy, a veritable mountain of a man, actually _laughed_.

"If you only knew, man. If you only knew." The guy shook his head, his hold on Stiles tightening but his head turning enough so that he could keep one eye on Derek.

"Let him go." Derek snarled, struggling to keep the shift at bay.

He couldn't stop it entirely because Stiles, his _mate_ , was in danger but he fought it with every fiber of his being. Derek could feel his teeth lengthen, feel his claws prick at his fingertips, and fought the urge to tear into the other man. Stiles was still radiating fear but the scent mellowed a little with Derek's arrival. Derek forced himself to focus on that, to meet Stiles' eyes and catch the tiny nod he offered.

"Why don't one of you tell us what your friend here was doing sniffing around where he doesn't belong." the guy said, all demanding statement and no actual question as he gave Stiles a rough shake.

Derek tried to keep the red from bleeding into his eyes but wasn't entirely sure he succeeded. "Us?" he snapped.

"Us." A deep, mechanically altered voice called down from the fire escape above Derek's head.

Derek crouched low, swiveling in place to keep his back away from both strangers.

"Fucking archers." he growled, getting a good look at the leather clad figure above him, bow drawn tight, arrow aimed straight at Derek's chest.


	3. Disbelief And Broken Bonds

Derek heard Stiles gasp in surprise, an expletive tripping from his lips as he took note of the archer's aggressive stance. Even in the dimly lit and dingy alleyway, despite the mask and hood hiding most of his face and without Derek using his wolf sight, he could still see surprise flicker across the Arrow's features at Derek's comment.

"You know a lot of us?" the archer asked, his eyes never leaving Derek.

Stiles snorted then and the dark-skinned guy raised an almost amused eyebrow down at him.

"More than I'd like to." Derek ground out, his jaw creaking ominously with the force of him clenching his teeth.

"He's just generally more acquainted with the arrows than the archer." Stiles tossed in, because he's Stiles and can never seem to keep his snark to himself, not even when they're in the midst of a potentially dangerous situation.

Derek clenched his jaw tighter and thanked his accelerated healing when his teeth cracked. His claws threatened to unsheathe, sharp and ready to pop from his fingertips, his body taunt with resistance to the shift.

"You two are at a severe disadvantage here." the archer informed them, completely oblivious to the war being waged within Derek. "Tell me what you're doing here, what your friend was looking for, and maybe we can all walk away from this without any bloodshed."

Derek didn't speak, unsure how to even begin to explain how they ended up where they were, how to explain that they were on an entirely different trail but somehow knew that there was a female nearby who reeked of blood and might need medical attention or a rescue and fuck him sideways how in the hell did he always end up with a weapon aimed at his chest?

Holding himself stock still, Derek bit back the "none of your fucking business" that wanted to shove its way through his teeth. His tension eased just the barest fraction when he could feel Isaac nearby, feel the pack bond tug behind his navel.

Derek's lips turned up in a snarl, heedless of whether or not his partially extended fangs were put on display. "You might want to reevaluate which of us has the advantage." he growled darkly.

Stiles took the moment of tense anticipation and ran with it. He sent magic skittering across his skin, putting a heavy dose of power behind it. The shock caught Mountain Man by surprise and Stiles ripped his arms free, kicking back with his heel and landing a hit directly to the guy's kneecap. When tall, dark, and behemoth lurched forward Stiles crooked his arm, forcing it back and landing an elbow to the guy's jaw.

At the same moment, the familiar but somehow not at all sound of an arrow whistling through the air gave Derek enough time to dodge it, letting it embed itself in the wall behind him. He turned a sarcastically kinked eyebrow on the archer just as Isaac leapt down from the low roof of an adjacent building, dropping into a defensive crouch at Derek's left side, his features entirely human even as his eyes flickered between his Alpha and the archer, a growl building low and rolling in his chest.

"Wait!" a sharp female voice called out as someone came bursting through a door Derek hadn't even known was there.

Every man in that alley, human and wolf alike, froze.

That smell hit Derek again, the _lilac-champagne-sunshine_ scent from before. It was still laced through with blood but most of it didn't actually seem to belong to her. It was drying already, going stale wherever it had soaked into the fabric of her clothes.

"Wait." she repeated, this time more firmly, her eyes lifting to the leather bound bow toter.

They seemed to have an entire conversation with just their eyes, neither of them speaking but somehow understanding one another perfectly. Derek must have missed something because before he could blink the Arrow was dropping to the ground and the girl was turning to face the wolves, along with Stiles who was standing tall behind them.

Derek was taken aback by the razor edged tang of excitement that wafted off the woman. He had been wrong calling her a girl, even in his head. She was definitely a woman, all soft curves and porcelain skin. Her blonde hair framed a pretty face and a pair of cunning blue eyes, curiosity and intelligence burning bright behind dark framed glasses.

As if on a mission to confuse Derek further the woman spoke directly to Stiles, ignoring Derek and Isaac entirely despite the fact that Isaac had risen to his full, considerable, height and was inching closer to Derek and Stiles with every second that ticked by.

"You're Stiles." The blonde smiled wide and sincere, her expression laced with a giddiness Derek didn't understand.

"Uh..." Stiles' eyebrows knotted together in confusion even as Derek fought the growl rumbling in his throat. "No?"

"What the hell is a Stiles?" The big guy asked, taking up the archer's left side, rubbing unconsciously at the hinge of his jaw.

"He's a Stiles." The blonde lifted her chin at Stiles, her heart beating a steady but elevated tempo in Derek's ears. "I'm Felicity."

She stepped forward, hand extended toward Stiles, but stopped when Derek and Isaac both growled and closed ranks around him.

The archer and the mountain moved in synchronization, both of them flanking Felicity without hesitation.

"Easy, guys." Stiles slipped between Derek and Isaac, lifting a hand to shake Felicity's. "Hey. Don't mind these guys. They're just a little bit overprotective, especially when super imposing giants among men try to rough me up in dark alleyways. Seriously, this isn't even the first time this has happened. Though I don't think roughing up was what that other guy was going for bu-"

"Stiles." Derek barked out a warning at the exact same moment the aforementioned giant said, "Oh my God, there's two of them."

"Felicity, what is going on?" the archer asked, his unease making itself know in the terse sound of his voice. Derek didn't miss the change in his tone even through the voice altering apparatus. "Do you know these guys?"

"Not exactly?" Felicity hedged, biting her bottom lip with a small wince.

"Holy hell." Stiles pointed a finger at the blonde, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. "It was you!"

"What was her?" the Arrow pressed, moving even closer to Felicity's side as though Stiles would even consider hurting her.

That's not to say that he wouldn't if the situation called for it. Stiles would tear the world apart and burn it to the ground if it meant protecting his pack, and he wouldn't lose a single wink of sleep over it. But there was nothing overtly threatening about the little blonde human, nothing to put Stiles on the defensive even if both Derek and Isaac were ready to tear her limb from limb should she so much as look like she were going to make a move.

"You hacked us!" Stiles turned to Derek, eyes round and incredulous. "She hacked us!" he half-shouted, just in case Derek missed that bit. "How did you hack us?!" Stiles asked, turning back to Felicity.

It was the Arrow's turn to snort, though it came out sounding more knowing than derisive.

With that the wind shifted, putting Derek downwind of the archer. On the breeze that blew past him Derek caught the smell of silk, leather and rain. There was also an undercurrent of dried blood, the same as the scent that Felicity wore, though it was fresher than the remnants clinging to her in thin wisps. Derek cataloged it all, just in case.

Felicity grinned somewhat smugly at Stiles before turning to the hooded guy beside her. When she looked up at him her expression melted into something soft and open. "Okay, you are not going to like what I'm about to say but I need you to trust me. Can you do that?"

"Felicity, you know that I trust you." the archer said, his eyes dark and flinty in the horribly lit alleyway.

Stiles couldn't help but glance back at Derek, hearing the same sentiment echoing in his memories. A soft smile tugged up one side of mouth, curling his lips before he turned his attention back to the trio opposite them.

"Good." Felicity nodded, her own lips turning up at the corners. "Then we need to take this downstairs."

"Are you kidding?" The big guy asked doubtfully, glancing over at the others as though the last thing he wanted to do was let them hang around any longer than necessary.

"You know that I would never risk your secret." Felicity kept talking to the Arrow, though her hand reached out to reassure the other man, squeezing his forearm soothingly. "Believe me when I tell you that these three have just as much to lose, if not more, by us keeping their secret."

"We know their secret?" the archer questioned at the same moment Derek growled and Stiles said, "Yeah, about that."

"I do." Felicity smiled, ignoring everything else in favor of keeping her eyes fixed on the Arrow.

Derek could smell the deep affection rolling off of her in thick waves. He would have wondered about their relationship if he weren't busy attempting to calm the wolf snarling and snapping inside his head, clawing at his chest and begging to be let out. The archer's mouth turned down into a contemplative frown, broadcasting his indecisiveness like a red flag in a sea of white and drawing Derek's attention back to the current situation.

"Trust me." Felicity repeated, clasping the Arrow's hand. "They won't tell anyone who you are, I promise."

That seemed to appease him because in the next second he was giving one tight dip of his chin and turning to the open door Felicity had flung herself out of. Felicity smiled brightly, pleased with herself or the outcome Derek couldn't be sure.

"Come on." Felicity gestured for the pack to follow her. "You guys are safe here, I swear. You _and_ your secret."

Stiles cocked his head while he looked at her and Derek could tell he was impressed. Stiles may have even been a little turned on but Derek shoved the stab of jealousy down and focused on the situation he'd long ago lost control of.

"Say it again." Stiles instructed Felicity, his tone easy but demanding compliance just the same.

"What?" Her smile faltered just a little, the question reaching her eyes.

"Repeat what you just said." Stiles gestured at absolutely nothing but Felicity seemed to understand anyway.

"You and your secret are safe here." she repeated, her voice steady and strong through her confusion.

Stiles looked back to Derek and Isaac for confirmation. They both nodded, having heard no skip in her heartbeat to indicate a lie.

"Alrighty." Stiles stepped forward, brandishing an arm for Felicity to lead the way, all the while ignoring her confused expression. "Let's do this."

 

*

 

Felicity looked around the loosely assembled group of men, all of them glaring or scowling at one another, and had to hide a smile behind her hand. Stiles, the only man not actively trying to bore holes into the skulls of anyone at all, noticed her smile and returned it with one of his own.

Oliver had lost the mask and lowered the hood, but he still wore his leathers like a suit of armor, not daring to stray more than a foot away from Felicity at a time. She knew the gash along his ribs was going to need attention sooner rather than later but Oliver didn't seem to mind the pain if it meant he got to stick close. Digg was leaning against a pillar a few feet away, seemingly relaxed though Felicity knew he'd be ready to move in a blink.

Stiles stood with his wolves on the other side of the space, hands in his pockets and looking for all the world like a kid in a candy store, his gaze flicking to Oliver and then away several times. Felicity thought she heard Stiles whisper, "For Christ's sake, he's a superhero, Derek. Stop growling." and had to press her lips tight to stop the giggle that threatened to burst out.

The dark haired wolf, Alpha Derek Hale she recalled from the database, stood stoically, his shoulders back and chin up as though waiting for a challenge or attack. The curly haired blonde, Isaac, one of two mates to Alpha Scott McCall, hovered close to Stiles' left side, arms crossed around his middle, his eyes skipping from one face to another apprehensively though he tried to convey confidence.

 _How is this my life?_ Felicity wondered, moving to pick up the tablet from her desk.

"I used to ask myself that question on a daily basis." Stiles grinned, answering her because apparently she'd said that out loud.

And who could blame her, really? In the last sixteen hours her world had been tilted on its axis and she was still desperately trying to get her feet back beneath her. Every myth and legend she'd ever read or learned about had suddenly become real. From the innocent and adorable to the deadly and destructive, every single thing Felicity thought belonged in the realm of fairytales was no longer trapped within the pages of books or the reels of films and were now living and breathing realities. Her brain-to-mouth filter was only half functional on a good day. No one should expect it to be anywhere near fully functional on a day like this.

"So..." Stiles rocked back and forth on his heels, glancing around the interior of the lair with an impressed eye. "This place is a lot nicer than our base. Well, our base is more of a house than anything. A home-base, if you will."

"Stiles." Derek bit, the cords of his neck straining with tension.

"Okay, look." Felicity stepped forward, placing herself in the center of all of them. "I think introductions might be the way to go here."

She looked to Oliver for confirmation. He gave one last scowl but reluctantly nodded his assent, resigned to that particular inevitability.

"Right. So, Oliver Queen. CEO of Queen Consolidated by day, hooded superhero by night." Felicity jerked her thumb over her right shoulder where Oliver was hovering. Tipping her head to where Digg was standing, she continued, "John Diggle. Soldier, bodyguard, occasional driver, and hero in his own right. And I," She smiled proudly, "am Felicity Smoak. I.T expert, executive assistant, and the one who makes sure this team stays in one piece. Or, well, more like three to ten pieces, depending on who's doing the counting. But one unit, I guess."

Felicity lifted her brows, watching Stiles expectantly.

"Oh! My turn?" Stiles pointed to his own chest until Felicity nodded encouragingly. "Uh, okay... See, I don't really know what to say here. I mean, like, obviously you know who we are because you're the evil genius that hacked our database, which I have tons of questions about by the way, but they," Stiles indicated Oliver and Digg, "don't seem to have any idea. And, speaking from experience, I can tell you that this isn't a pill you can swallow dry, you know what I mean? Actually, you kind of did the same thing I did, which was figure it out all on your own which, again. Questions. Because, I had my best friend who was bitten as a starting poi-"

"Bitten?" Oliver interrupted, his scowl slipping into utter confusion. There was no way he'd heard that correctly.

Stiles bit his lips and looked to Felicity for guidance, his eyes wide and questioning.

She tapped a neon orange fingernail to the edge of her tablet in deliberation before turning to face Oliver and Digg directly. "Werewolves." she stated matter-of-factly.

Stiles snorted a laugh. "Way to rip off the band-aid."

"... Werewolves?" Oliver asked, dubiously and with more than a little heat in his tone.

"As in...?" Digg pushed himself away from the pillar, eyeing the wolves more carefully.

"As in claws, fangs, howling at the moon, honest-to-God werewolves." Stiles nodded, rocking forward onto his toes.

Derek was standing stiffly beside Stiles, holding himself rigidly to counteract the intense vulnerability he felt laying it all out there for these strangers to see. Stiles picked up on it almost immediately, shifting closer to Derek's side, pressing into his shoulder to reassure and anchor him. Derek breathed a little easier for it, inhaling Stiles' familiar _lightning-dusty sunshine-mate_ scent and holding it deep in his lungs.

"Werewolves... Exist?" Oliver asked incredulously, the disbelief billowing around him like smoke.

"Sure do." Stiles smiled comfortingly, trying to put everyone at ease.

"And you're one?" Diggle raised a brow, looking seriously unimpressed.

Stiles narrowed his eyes at him and Derek growled, but Stiles brushed a hand over the back of Derek's neck and he bit off the sound.

"No." Stiles answered evenly. "I'm not a wolf. I'm mostly human, actually. I mean, there's my magic but that's not _what_ I am, it's _who_ I am. If that makes sense? Uh, Derek and Isaac are wolves, though." He pointed to each of them respectively.

"Felicity." Oliver turned to her, his face pinched and bordering on angry.

"I should explain." She chewed on her bottom lip, unsure where to start. "Just... Try to keep an open mind, okay?" When Oliver gave one sharp jerk of his head to indicate his agreement, Felicity continued. "Okay. Last night I was trying to figure out the Ribbon Killer case. I used one of my programs to search for anything online that corresponded to the information I'd managed to gather so far. The algorithm I use is super specific and it picked up a couple of keywords in the encryption code for a heavily guarded database."

"Okay." Oliver nodded to show he was following along.

"So, the security for the site was tighter than A.R.G.U.S and the C.I.A put together. You know me, Oliver. Plus, the database obviously had information that we needed so I..."

"Hacked it." Isaac spoke up, drawing everyone's eyes and shrugging.

"Exactly." Felicity smiled at Isaac, earning a hint of a grin in return.

"What does this have to do with werewolves?" Diggle questioned, only stumbling a little over the word, as if it fit strangely in his mouth.

"Everything." Stiles threw in. "The database that Felicity miraculously hacked her way into is so heavily secured because it holds information on more than half of the world's supernatural population. Alphas to Zombies, that database has profiles on all of them."

"Alphas?" Oliver asked, wondering why the hell he was still asking questions and what had gotten into Felicity that she was buying into any of this.

"Alpha werewolves." Stiles nodded. "Like Derek here." He dipped his head in Derek's direction.

"Alpha, beta, omega." Felicity supplied for clarification. "Alpha Hale and Alpha McCall share responsibility for leading the Hale-McCall pack in Beacon Hills."

Digg and Oliver both turned eyes onto Isaac, who raised his hands in denial. "Not McCall." he laughed tightly. "I'm just a beta."

"But, you are Alpha McCall's mate? Or, one of them." Felicity asked, curiosity bulldozing straight over good manners.

"Werewolves get more than one mate?" Digg looked to Stiles because really, the kid seemed to be the one with the answers.

Derek surprised everyone, himself most of all, by speaking up. "Having more than one mate is almost unheard of. But, then again, so is having two Alphas within the same pack without infighting becoming a serious problem."

"Our pack is unconventional." Stiles chuckled, seemingly oblivious to the mounting tension in both Derek and Oliver's shoulders.

"I still don't know what 'werewolves'," Derek, Stiles and Isaac all bristled at Oliver's use of air quotes, even though they were implied and not at all physically manifested, "have to do with the Ribbon Killer. Is he a werewolf?"

"No." Felicity answered immediately, garnering herself the attention of all five men. "She's a Harpy."

"Excuse me?" Stiles' eyes widened, his mouth popping open in surprise.

Before Felicity could respond however, a sound at the top of the stairs drew the wolves' attention and had Derek moving in closer to Stiles' side.

"It's okay." Felicity assured them, already moving toward the stairs. "He's a member of the team."

"He?" Derek growled, catching the scent of cinnamon, anger, and something that made Derek think of broken bonds.

There was something naggingly familiar about the combination of scents, something that tickled at Derek's senses like a memory he couldn't quite drag to the surface.

"What the hell is going on down here?" the newcomer called from halfway down the stairs, his voice sending a trickle of recognition down Stiles' spine and had his brows knotting together.

"Long story." Felicity met him at the bottom of the staircase. She turned back to the group and opened her mouth to say, "Guys, this is-"

"Jackson?!" All three of the Hale-McCall pack said at the same time, their shock as clear as the noses on their faces.

"Noooo... Roy." The kid's eyebrows turned down in the middle, his face morphing in clear bewilderment. "Who the hell are these guys?" Roy asked Oliver, jerking his thumb in the pack's direction.

"Werewolves, apparently." Oliver sighed and ran a hand over his face in frustration and general exhaustion.

"What." Stiles flailed his arms around him, looking from Derek to Isaac and then back to Roy, who continued to watch the rest of them, clearly baffled.

"He does smell a little like Jackson." Isaac frowned, tilting his head in the way only the pups could do.

Stiles couldn't smell Roy's scent without employing his magic, which he thought was probably a bad idea considering the precarious alliance they all seemed to be trying to forge, but Derek could. It hit him with crystal clarity why the kid's scent made his brain light up with recognition. Jackson, as a human and then as a wolf, always smelled of anger and that same broken bond scent, though where Roy smelled like toasted cinnamon Jackson smelled like burnt sugar.

"Who is Jackson?" Digg asked, even as Felicity searched the database and pulled up his file on her tablet.

"He's one of Alpha Hale's betas." She held up the tablet to show Roy the photo of Jackson contained within the database. "There is a pretty striking resemblance." she mused.

"Huh." Roy frowned, taking the tablet and examining it for a moment. Finally he shook his head. "I don't see it."

"What in the fuck is going on in this city?" Stiles shouted.


	4. Gunpowder Is Fine, It's The Lilac I Hate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: You guys are awesome and I love you! I didn't think there would be so much interest in this crossover but I am thrilled to read each and every comment!
> 
> This chapter is where this story earns it's rating.
> 
>   **  
>  _**NSFW content of the Sterek variety**_  
> **

As soon as he set foot into his and Derek's motel room, having left Isaac at the door to his own room next door, Stiles flopped forward onto the queen size bed, groaning. “A fucking Harpy, Derek. A Harpy!” He rolled his head sideways in time to watch Derek shrug out of his leather jacket and toss it over the back of a chair. 

Derek sank onto the edge of the bed and hunched forward, elbows on his knees and head hanging forward with his hip only a few inches from Stiles' head. “I hate Harpies.” he sighed heavily, scrubbing a hand over his scruff. 

“Is there a sect of people who actually like them? Because if there are, I really think we should look into that. They are obviously not of their right minds.” Stiles ranted, reaching out to hook a finger through one of Derek's belt loops.

Stiles could feel the dark tangle of emotions throbbing around inside Derek. He could easily distinguish between the sharp stabbing sense of unease Derek felt at having been forced into revealing their secret and the jangling fear that denoted his distress at not being in total control of their current situation. Felicity and her team held all of the cards, held the survival of the pack in the palm of their hands, and what they would do with that... 

Derek was terrified. 

“Hey.” Stiles clambered up onto his knees, shuffling closer. He laid an open palm over Derek's heart, pushing calming energy through the connection. “Nothing is going to happen to the pack, Derek. Oliver has a secret to keep, too. I know you can't trust them but you need to trust me.”

“I do trust you.” Derek turned to catch Stiles' eye, feeling himself relax beneath his mate's touch. “And I didn't hear a single lie from Felicity. But, the archer is different. He smells like pain and longing. I'm pretty sure he was controlling his heartbeat, too.”

Stiles frowned, his brows crinkling. “Why would he do that? How would he even know to do that? Felicity said that she was the only one to look at the database so far. There's no way Oliver would know that you could hear a lie.”

“It wasn't like that.” Derek struggled to find a way to explain what he got from the archer. “Even when we were in the alley, his heartbeat was steady. It didn't go up, it didn't go down. It felt like he did it without conscious thought.”

“Well he is an archer.” Stiles mused, his fingertips rubbing unconsciously where they laid on Derek's chest. “Allison controls her heartbeat when she's shooting. Maybe it's an extension of that.” 

“Yeah, maybe.” Derek scratched at his stubble, considering. 

“He's not a villain, Derek.” Stiles said softly, resting his chin in the dip of Derek's shoulder. “He's one of the good guys. Like Batman.” Suddenly, Stiles sat upright, his eyes going comically wide, his mouth hanging open as he replayed his last sentence in his mind. “Holy shit, do you think he knows Batman?!”

Derek couldn't help but laugh, couldn't stop the sound from bursting from his chest. “I really don't know, Stiles. I don't know that he'd tell you, even if he did.”

Stiles was already scrambling to drag his phone from the pocket of his jeans. His fingers blurred over the screen, tapping something out before Derek could even open his mouth to ask, “What are you doing?”

“Texting Felicity to see if Oliver knows Batman.” Stiles informed him, his tone making it sound as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“When did you two exchange numbers?” Derek asked gruffly, trying and failing to smooth out the wrinkle between his brows and the pouty downturn of his mouth.

Stiles glanced up at that, feeling the tremor of jealousy that sizzled through the bond. It wasn't unusual for Derek to get territorial or possessive when it came to his mate. It was actually something that Stiles had come to both expect and, to a lesser degree, enjoy. Derek's willingness to let anyone and everyone know that Stiles belonged to him, that Stiles was _his_... It never failed to send warmth licking through Stiles. Especially because Derek never tried to lord it over him. He respected that while Stiles was his mate, he was still his own person. He acknowledged that Stiles had a mind of his own, no matter how chaotic that mind might be, and that he submitted to Derek when, and only when, he chose to do so. 

A lot of things had changed when Derek and Stiles had become _DerekandStiles_. They'd had to, really. Pack dynamics had shifted, just as they had when Scott claimed Issac as his mate a year after officially claiming Allison. Stiles had moved into the Hale house after almost six months, something Derek had wanted from the get-go but Stiles had insisted they wait until the Sheriff got used to the idea. John genuinely seemed to like Derek by that point, not even batting an eyelash when he'd stumble in from an overnight shift to find the Alpha and his son tangled together on the living room couch, fast asleep. But, leaving his dad for the first time in his entire existence was a big deal and something Stiles had wanted to do right. 

One thing that hadn't changed was Stiles' inability to bite his tongue when there was something he needed to say, especially when that something was something he believed in. Derek still loved that about him, even when it thoroughly annoyed him. He loved that Stiles wasn't afraid to challenge him, to call Derek out when he needed it. Stiles was his anchor, giving him balance and equilibrium where there had only been an internal struggle and chaos for what seemed like forever. 

Stiles soothed Derek and his wolf, touching both of them in different ways but with the same hand. Derek admired Stiles for the way he balanced the ability to respect Derek as an Alpha and as a partner, willing to defer to him when the situation called for it without appearing weak in the process. 

Stiles gave Derek, and the rest of the pack, strength and heart. He kept them tethered to their humanity, Derek most of all. He was still mouthy and sarcastic, snarky and independent, but he embraced it. He was never afraid to speak his mind, to say exactly what he was thinking, sometimes verbatim and to hilarious effect. Stiles may have been claimed as Derek's mate and the emissary to their pack but in a lot of ways, he was still just _Stiles_ , something Derek would be eternally grateful for.

“We traded while you and Oliver were busy glaring at one another.” Stiles explained, grin wide and knowing. “It made sense seeing as how we're going to need to work together to figure all of this out. Communication is key, Derek.”

“Figure what out?” Derek puzzled. “We found the hacker. I don't think she has any intention of making our lives difficult. After our meeting with Kiara tomorrow afternoon, we should head home.”

“Home?” Stiles' face fell, his warm amber eyes belaying his objection before his mouth could make the argument. “We can't go home, Derek. Kiara's pack isn't equipped to deal with a Harpy on their own, and neither are Felicity and her team. Starling City doesn't have their own pack to take out the supernatural threats while Oliver deals with the human bad guys. We're the best chance this place has to put an end to this.”

Derek buried his head in his hands, his fingers pushing through his inky black hair in frustration. “We have our own pack, our own town to worry about, Stiles. Why do you always want to charge in headfirst to things that we don't have to fix? This is the mermaid incident all over again.”

“First of all, that squamous wench deserved it. No one tries to drown my pups and gets away with it, I don't care if it was her river or not. We were on vacation for Christ's sake!” Stiles' eyes flared angrily with the memory. “And second, people are dying here. Harpies are dangerous at the best times, but this one is out of her fucking mind. Felicity sent me the reports. Six bodies in eight day, all of them torn apart and left in tatters, not to mention completely drained of blood. These aren't typical Harpy kills, Derek. Harpies don't drain their victims, and they most definitely don't leave them looking like deflated balloons. The police have no idea what they're dealing with or how to stop it. We do.” 

There was passion and determination flowing through the bond, stubbornness thick in the air and smelling spicy, reminiscent of cayenne. Derek knew it was useless to argue with Stiles when he got onto something like this, something he felt so strongly about, especially if there were innocent parties involved. Heroism and the urge to protect came naturally to Stiles. It was ingrained in his very DNA, printed on his soul like a warning to those who wished harm on the people he cared enough to protect. Once he decided a problem needed his attention there was nothing anyone, even Derek, could say to change his mind.

“Stiles, can we just-”

Derek was interrupted by Stiles' text tone alerting him to a new message. Stiles smiled sheepishly but grabbed up the phone, swiping a thumb across the screen to open the text. Derek watched him read for a beat before Stiles erupted in laughter, turning the screen so Derek could read it too. 

From: Mrs. Bownarro

Derek huffed a laugh at the contact name, raising a slightly amused and mildly questioning eyebrow at Stiles who only grinned wider and said, “Oh, come on. I don't have to be a wolf to smell the unresolved sexual tension there. Besides, does Oliver Queen strike you as the type of man to deffer to just anyone?”

Derek shook his head fondly, dropping his eyes back to the screen.

-Yes, Oliver knows Batman. No, I will not tell you his actual identity.

That text was immediately followed by another:

-Do werewolves and cats get along?

“She has a golden opportunity to ask anything she wants about the supernatural and that's the question she goes with?” Derek blew a rough breath out through his nose, a cross between a huff and a snort.

“Dude, she's me in a skirt!” Stiles was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes. He flopped back onto the bed, clutching his phone to his belly as he shook with laughter. 

“I actually think she's older than you.” Derek tossed over his shoulder as he bent forward to unlace his boots. “Technically, that makes you her with pants.”

Stiles sobered a little a that, though his eyes still shined with humor, bright liquid gold. “I guess that makes you Oliver, then. You guys both like to rock a lot of leather, though, so I'm not really sure how to differentiate between the two of you.” Stiles mused, typing out a reply before tossing the phone on the nightstand and rolling onto his stomach so that he could crawl toward Derek.

Derek made an affronted noise in the back of his throat. “He and I are _nothing_ alike.”

“Pfft.” Stiles straightened up behind Derek, putting a knee on each side of his hips and winding his arms around Derek's shoulders. He planted an open mouthed kiss to the curve of Derek's neck before murmuring, “Whatever you say, Sourwolf.”

With a growl that rumbled in his chest, Derek grabbed Stiles' arm and pulled him around, dragging him across his lap so that he could nip at his jaw in reprimand. Stiles tipped his head to the side, baring his neck without a second's hesitation. Derek took the offer, ignoring his desire to correct Stiles' assertion about he and Oliver, in favor of nibbling his way along Stiles' jaw until he reached his throat. Derek bit down on the thin skin over Stiles' pulse where it rushed just below the surface, drawing a ragged groan from Stiles' chest. 

Stiles' phone chimed but they both ignored it, too wrapped up in one another to care and knowing that if it was an emergency someone would call. Derek shifted further back onto the bed as Stiles clamored to his knees, swinging one leg around so that he was straddling Derek's thighs. Stiles' fingers sank into the short hairs behind Derek's ears, angling his head so that he could lean down and bruise Derek's lips with his own. 

With his hands curling around Stiles' hips, Derek opened for him, easily allowing Stiles to control the rhythm of the kiss, the warm slide of his lips against Derek's, the incongruously gentle tease of his tongue in every corner of Derek's mouth. Stiles rolled his pelvis forward as Derek's hands slipped under the back of his shirt, the tips of his fingers skimming gently up either side of Stiles' spine. Stiles shivered, goosebumps appearing on his flesh.

Stiles tore his mouth away from Derek's, dragging his lips along the Alpha's jaw and enjoying the tingle his stubble evoked. Tilting his head back, Derek gave Stiles unfettered access to his neck, something he'd only ever done for his mate. Derek moaned when Stiles' teeth scraped over his Adam's apple, his hips jerking up so hard he lifted Stiles off the bed.

Stiles laughed, his grin bright and his gaze tinged with passion when he met Derek's eyes. “Someone's a little eager, huh?” 

Derek growled and used his preternatural speed to flip their positions before Stiles could protest. A burst of air rushed from Stiles' lungs when he landed, only Derek's hand in the dip of his spine stopping his breath from leaving him completely. Derek buried his face in the slope of Stiles' neck, inhaling deeply in an effort to clear the unfamiliar scents out of his sinuses. 

It was something he did often, and even more frequently when they were away from home. Stiles' scent over the years had become synonymous with home and pack and family, and Derek always needed that when they were outside of Beacon Hills, outside their territory. Pressing his nose in close just below Stiles' ear, Derek inhaled him, his scent and everything that came with it, all the while smiling at the way Stiles squirmed beneath him.

“Better?” Stiles asked, rocking his hips unsubtly upwards as Derek's tongue flicked out to taste the scent.

“A little.” Derek hooked a hand behind Stiles' knees, pulling them open so that he could settle between them, his breath hot and damp against Stiles' cheek as he nosed his way back to Stiles' mouth. “Would be even better if you didn't smell like lilacs.”

Derek didn't tell him that he also smelled like the bodyguard, John. John's _pepper-molasses-gunpowder_ scent wasn't the one that made Derek's hackles rise, made his possessive instincts rear their ugly heads. No, it was Felicity's scent, soaked into Stiles' skin and altering his own just enough to make Derek's wolf whine, that Derek was worried about covering.

“Why the hell would I smell like...” Stiles trailed off, a frown creasing his face before understanding dawned. “Felicity?”

Derek nodded, his nose sliding against Stiles' and causing the other man to reach up to scratch it. 

“Do you want me to go shower first?” Stiles inquired, always willing to do whatever he could to soothe Derek's instincts. 

“No, it's fine.” Derek lifted a hand to cup the side of Stiles' neck, layering his scent over the faint trace of Felicity's. “It's only a little bit of transfer.”

“And you want to be the one to erase it.” It wasn't a question. Stiles already knew that he was right, that Derek wanted, almost needed, to make Stiles smell like him, like _them_ again. He knew Derek wouldn't calm, his wolf wouldn't settle, until Stiles smelled like Stiles, no lingering traces of a handshake or other contact clinging to his skin. “Well, I can think of at least one foolproof way to cover me in your scent.” Stiles waggled his eyebrows for emphasis, smirking roguishly.

Derek chuffed, his breath puffing over Stiles' lips. “Oh, I plan on it.” he promised, the hand at Stiles' neck slipping lower to glide down over his waist, his hip, down his thigh to hike his knee just a little further up on Derek's hip.

Stiles arched away from the bed with a gasp when Derek rutted against him, his half-hard cock rubbing deliciously at Stiles' own throbbing dick. “Fuck, Derek.” Stiles breathed, his fingertips digging into the hard cords of muscle that made up Derek's shoulders. 

Derek growled, deep and fierce, the sound vibrating all the way down to Stiles' bones and making him shudder. Derek lifted himself off of Stiles just enough so that he could grab the collar of his shirt and rip the thing over his head. Without missing a beat, Stiles levered up to latch onto Derek's newly exposed skin before his head was even free of the shirt. Derek grunted as Stiles' teeth nipped sharply at one pebbled nipple, his tongue slipping out immediately to lave away the sting. Stiles trailed his open palms down the broad expanse of Derek's back, dipping his hands beneath Derek's jeans and sinking his nails into the globes of his ass.

“Jesus, Stiles.” Derek breathed, his voice devolving into a stuttered groan when Stiles pulled him down on top of him and ground his trapped hard-on into Derek's pelvis.

“Too many clothes.” Stiles complained, though he made no move to divest them of any. “We are wearing- _hnng_ \- too many clothes. Get your fucking jeans off.”

Derek chuckled, the noise tickling across Stiles' throat and making him moan, his nails digging a little more roughly in Derek's cheeks. “You're still fully clothed. How am I the one who needs to lose my pants?”

“So take my pants off, asshole.” Stiles scratched his nails up Derek's back, leaving quickly fading red welts in his wake. 

Derek sat back on his heels, pulling Stiles with him, and tugged at the hem of Stiles' shirt, ripping it up and off in one quick motion. Stiles went for Derek's belt, long and dexterous fingers getting both his belt and button open with minimal effort. He bent forward, his lips finding the ridges of Derek's abs with unerring accuracy, sucking and biting at the peaks and valleys until Derek's chin was resting on his chest and he was looking down at Stiles through heavily lidded eyes. 

Stiles worked Derek's zipper down, kissing every newly exposed centimeter of skin. Derek's fingers wound their way into Stiles' hair, kneading lightly at his scalp. Hooking his fingers into the waist of Derek's jeans, Stiles pulled them down his hips to bunch low around Derek's thighs. 

“I thought you wanted me to take _your_ pants off.” Derek said through gritted teeth, his eyes never straying from where Stiles was nibbling at the cut of his pelvis. 

“Yeah well,” Stiles lapped at the crease of Derek's hip and thigh, his chin brushing the side of Derek's swollen cock, “I got tired of waiting. You know how impatient I can be.”

“You really have a knack- _shit_ \- for understatements.” Derek hissed, his fingers clenching in Stiles' hair as Stiles' open mouth grazed along his length, his tongue flicking out to taste Derek's blood-hot skin.

“No way in hell are you just figuring that out now.” Stiles smirked before he sucked the head of Derek's cock into the warm wetness of his mouth.

Derek's head fell back, a jagged moan tearing its way up his throat as Stiles' tongue swirled around his leaking head. He rocked forward, nudging a little deeper into Stiles' mouth. Stiles moaned around him, his hands curling around Derek's hips, his fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises that would fade away almost before they formed. Stiles' mouth sank down around Derek's cock, his tongue rolling along the thick vein that ran from tip to base as Derek hit the back of his throat.

“Fucking Christ.” Derek gasped out, his hand cupping the back of Stiles' head, urging him on. 

Stiles sucked firmly and twirled his tongue, his hands joining the mix to stroke Derek's balls, fondling them gently. Derek bucked, biting his lip with teeth that were just a little too sharp. Not deterred in the slightest by the rumbling growl building in Derek's chest, Stiles kept at it, working Derek's cock like the pro that he was. Every swipe of his tongue, every glide of his lips, every squeeze of his throat, brought Derek a little closer to the edge, sent lightning sparking down his spine in searing pulses.

Stiles pulled off with an obscene pop, licking his lips as he shifted back on his elbows, lifting his hips invitingly. “Come on, Derek.” He grinned, rolling his body smoothly before reaching for his own belt. “I think I can still smell lilacs.”

Derek snarled, falling forward to cover Stiles' body with his own. His hands snaked between them to bat Stiles' fingers away before they got the belt undone. Derek took over, opening the belt with a flick of his wrist before setting to work on the button and zipper. Stiles lifted his ass off the bed to help shimmy his way out of his jeans, gasping and landing back on the mattress with an oomph when Derek licked a wet stripe up his sternum. Shuddering, Stiles' eyes fluttered closed as Derek lined them up and slid their cocks together, the glide smooth thanks to Stiles' saliva coating Derek's taunt skin. 

“Open your eyes.” Derek commanded, rocking into Stiles with deliberately long, agonizingly slow thrusts. “Look at me, Stiles.” he rasped, his voice sandpaper rough as he fisted a hand around both their cocks, jerking them steadily. 

Stiles' eyes popped open, hearing the demand in Derek's tone. Golden irises sought out ethereal green ones, finding them much closer than he'd anticipated. Derek's forehead was pressed to his, his mouth open and his breath puffing out in labored pants against Stiles' lips. Gazes locked on one another, they moved together, Derek's hips snapping forward to meet every one of Stiles' upward shoves. They writhed in staggered tandem, a sweaty tangle of limbs and tongues. Stiles added his hand to Derek's, slotting their fingers together to work their cocks. 

“Holy God.” Stiles bowed off the bed, his voice coming out strangled and breathless when Derek swiped a thumb over his dripping head. “This isn't going to last much longer.” he warned, already feeling the familiar heat pooling low in his belly. 

“Good.” Derek grinned sharply, increasing his tempo. He dropped his mouth to Stiles' neck, sucking a mark into his skin and ripping a hoarse moan from Stiles' chest. Derek's grin turned almost feral, all wolf when he clamped down on the curve of Stiles' neck, his blunt human teeth sinking into Stiles' flesh. 

Stiles came then, Derek's name spilling from his lips on a punched-out cry as he spurted hot and wet between them. Derek stroked him through it, mouthing at the bite mark he left until Stiles was a whimpering pile of raw nerves beneath him. 

When Stiles was too sensitive to tolerate touch, Derek rearranged himself so that he was straddling Stiles' hips, kneeling above him with one hand beside Stiles' head to hold himself up. He stroked himself hard and fast until he groaned raggedly and came all over Stiles' chest, come landing in thick white ropes on Stiles' flushed skin. Stiles groaned at the sensation, his fingers biting into Derek's thighs as the werewolf quivered and panted above him. 

When Derek's brain rebooted enough to revive his ability to move, he collapsed next to Stiles, burying his nose in the crook of his mate's neck, licking gently at the sure-to-bruise imprint of his teeth, slinging an arm and a leg over Stiles' body with no care at all for the cooling come covering both of them. 

Stiles slowly regained motor function, along with the feeling in his limbs, and shifted closer, snuggling into Derek and pressing a kiss into the damp hair sticking to his forehead. “You're not gonna let me shower, are you?” He already knew the answer, and he honestly didn't even mind, but he couldn't resist the urge to tease Derek. 

“Not a chance.” Derek smiled into Stiles' throat, nuzzling his nose against his skin to inhale their combined scent, no trace of lilac to be found. 

“You're lucky I love you, Hale.” Stiles tangled their legs together, paying no mind to the fact that they were half hanging off the bed. 

Derek chuckled. “Don't I know it.”

*

Oliver stood on the training mats, his feet set wide apart for balance as he struck out at the sparring dummy with taped fists. Hours had passed since the lair had emptied of werewolves, so many that the sun would be creeping up over the horizon in the next half an hour, but Oliver had yet to relax. He'd barely sat still long enough for Digg to clean and wrap the wound on his ribs before he was stalking off across the lair to hit stuff.

Felicity watched Oliver work out his confusion and unease, watched as sweat shined wetly on his skin, while simultaneously carrying on half of a conversation with Roy and Diggle.

“So, you hacked their database by accident?” Roy asked dubiously, one brow cocked in disbelief.

“Not exactly.” Felicity frowned, talking to Roy but her eyes never moving off of Oliver. “I found it by accident. I hacked it entirely on purpose.”

“Bet you didn't think werewolves would be the end result of that little endeavor.” Diggle grinned, flipping through the topic of discussion on Felicity's tablet, perusing file after file at random.

“Holy shit, is that a unicorn?” Roy exclaimed, catching sight of the file from where he leaned in close to read over Digg's shoulder. 

“Looks like.” Digg nodded. “Saw a Pegasus a few pages back.”

“There's an entire entry about dragons, too.” Felicity threw in, her eyes following Oliver as he crossed the room to start his climb on the Salmon ladder. She winced in sympathy when Oliver grunted, the skin over his ribs no doubt tugging and making pain flash through him. Not that Oliver would admit that, or let it stop him from burning off steam.

“Does anyone else have the distinct feeling that they went to sleep and woke up in an alternate reality in which werewolves are a thing and Oliver regressed back to using angry exercise as an excuse to ignore what's really going on?” Roy questioned, eyebrows raised as he looked from Felicity to John and back again.

“Werewolves do not exist.” Oliver snapped from the fourth rung, acknowledging the topic of conversation for the first time since the Hale-McCall pack left the lair. 

“Seriously, Oliver?” Felicity asked disbelievingly. “Mirakuru infected super soldiers, men from outer space with the power to shoot lasers from their eyes, and lightning enhanced science geeks are totally legitimate, but werewolves are where we draw the line?”

Oliver growled an irritated response but otherwise ignored the question.

“Do you think they'd show us?” Roy asked, tilting his head as he thought about it. “If Oliver saw them change there's no way he could deny they exist. Three werewolves shift forms in front of you and pretending they don't exist suddenly gets a hell of a lot harder to do.”

“Two werewolves.” Felicity corrected automatically. “Stiles is human. Or, mostly human, I guess. He has some kind of magic but he didn't really explain beyond that. The database has him listed as a mage and an emissary to the Hale-McCall pack, but I haven't really figured out what that means yet.”

“Still.” Roy shrugged. “Two werewolves are still pretty hard to argue with. Why didn't we ask them before we let them leave?” 

“We didn't let them leave, Roy.” Diggle informed the younger man, his eyes skimming a paragraph on something called a Lamia. “They weren't our prisoners.”

“Besides, everyone was a little on edge and I really wanted to avoid any incidents.” Felicity explained, eyes cutting sideways in time to watch Oliver swing the bar up to the next rung. “I mean, if you had something that made you different, something special, would you want people just randomly asking you to make a spectacle of yourself?” 

Roy shrugged again. “How else are we supposed to believe these guys? Maybe this is all some super elaborate role playing game or some shit.”

“Then why bother guarding the database so heavily?” Digg asked, always the pragmatist. “And why come all the way from Beacon Hills to find out who subverted that security?”

“Digg's right.” Felicity swung her chair around to grab her phone from beside her keyboard. “I'm going to ask Stiles if he wants to grab a coffee later, I'll talk to him-”

There was a loud clank of metal and a heavy thud that interrupted Felicity's sentence. 

“You are not having coffee with him.” Oliver practically snarled from the floor where he'd landed below the ladder. 

Felicity arched a challenging eyebrow, bristling at the command in Oliver's tone. 

“Uh oh.” Roy muttered, rolling his chair backwards and taking Digg with him. 

“I'm sorry, I must have misheard you.” Felicity leaned back in her chair, laying her phone in her lap and crossing her arms over her chest. “I could have sworn you just tried to forbid me from having coffee with a new friend.”

“He's not a new friend, Felicity.” Oliver snapped, swiping a towel across his angry forehead. “He's a lunatic that thinks werewolves are real. He could be dangerous!”

Felicity snorted her disbelief. “Did we meet the same Stiles? I'm relatively sure his only real weapons are sarcasm and snark, Oliver. And he's not a lunatic. Just because you're too stubborn to believe that werewolves exist, that there are things out there that no branch of science can even begin to explain, doesn't make the people who do believe crazy.”

“You're not having coffee with him.” Oliver proved his stubborn streak by petulantly repeating the demand.

Felicity shoved herself up and out of her chair, striding across the room to stop in front of Oliver. She'd kicked her heels off sometime during the evening but she ignored the several inches of height Oliver had on her. She poked him hard in his bare chest, her eyes glittering with anger. “In case you've forgotten, You don't get to decide that, Oliver. I'm a grown woman. I make my own choices about who I spend my free time with. If I want to have coffee with Stiles, I'm going to have coffee with Stiles. End of discussion.” 

Oliver opened his mouth to argue further but was cut off by Felicity's phone blaring Lance's ringtone. Felicity glared at Oliver for a beat before turning away to answer the call. Oliver stared at her back as she walked away, only shifting his gaze when Roy whistled from where he and Diggle sat back, watching them. 

“What?” Oliver snapped, scowling darkly at the younger man.

“Jealousy is not a good look on you.” Roy shook his head, a knowing smirk curling his lips.

Mouth turned down in a frustrated frown, Oliver ignored Roy to return his attention to Felicity. She had disconnected the call and was staring down at her phone as though it had personally offended her.

“What is it?” Oliver asked, surging forward with no thought for their argument a minute before. “What's wrong?”

Felicity lifted her head, her eyes shadowed and sad. “There's been another kill.”


	5. Seeing Is Believing

The sun was just starting to slip through the heavy hotel curtains when Stiles' cellphone shrieked to life, startling him from a dead sleep. He jolted awake, smacking Derek across the chest and getting his legs tangled in the bedsheets as he struggled to drag himself across the bed in an effort to reach the phone.

"Wha's it?" Stiles mumbled, holding the phone to the side of his head as he tried to force his eyes open.

"Stiles?" The female voice asked hesitantly. "It's Felicity Smoak."

"Felicity." Stiles repeated, too tired to produce anything else. He sat upright, rubbing a hand across his eyes. Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, Stiles figured he and Derek had only been asleep for about four hours, after having showered and poured over the files Felicity had sent him.

"Yeah. Look, I'm sorry to wake you up so early, and I know Alpha Hale doesn't really trust me, trust us, but I thought you'd want to be the first to know." Felicity took a deep breath before continuing. "The Harpy's killed again. Our contact in the SCPD called about ten minutes ago."

"Where?" Stiles asked, suddenly much more alert than he had been. He shoved hard at Derek's side but the Alpha was already awake, his eyes on Stiles' face.

"Down by the docks." She read off the address while Stiles hauled himself out of bed and fought his way into a pair of jeans.

"We'll be right there." Stiles told her before quickly hanging up and tapping the address into his phone's GPS.

Derek was dragging a Henley over his head when Isaac knocked on the door a few minutes later, dressed and ready for action.

"What exactly are we hoping to accomplish by going to the crime scene?" Isaac asked, following Stiles and Derek to the elevator.

Derek punched the button to call the car, dragging a hand through his hair while Stiles flicked through the database, skimming over the information they'd managed to accumulate on Harpies to refresh his memory.

"If we can pick up a scent we can start tracking." Derek explained, stepping into the elevator when the doors slid open. "The sooner we handle this, the sooner we can go home."

"Right, but won't it be hard to find the scent? There's got to be a ton of other scents tainting the scene by now." Isaac pointed out.

Stiles looked up at that, his thumb stilling on the screen of his phone. "Harpies have a really distinct scent. And, this one is batshit crazy. You guys can pick up the scent of madness." Stiles shrugged. "Plus, I can help weed out the non-supernatural scents if I need to."

Derek reached up and brushed his fingers across the side of Stiles' neck, silently asking an all to familiar question. Stiles leaned into the touch briefly, a wordless reassurance.

As they made their way across the lobby and out to the car Stiles grinned to himself while Derek patted his pockets in search of his car keys.

"Looking for these?" Stiles asked, keys dangling from his middle finger.

Derek rolled his eyes and snatched the keys away, shoving a chuckling Stiles toward the passenger side. "Get in the car, Stiles. If we hurry we can stop and get coffee on the way."

Stiles obediently scrambled into his seat.

 

*

 

Oliver watched impatiently from above, positioned atop a warehouse that hadn't yet been allowed to open due to its proximity to the crime scene. The ground below was disturbingly free of blood for the state the body had been found in; Torn to shreds and mostly collapsed in on itself just like the others. The scene left Oliver feeling unsettled, an uneasiness curling low in his stomach that made his fingers twitch with the urge to pluck his bow string. He couldn't see Felicity from where he perched but he could hear her in his ear, mumbling to herself about the stench of dead fish permeating the air.

"You were the one who insisted on coming." Oliver reminded her quietly.

"Would you have preferred I left you to the wolves?" Felicity muttered back, the nasally tone telling him that she was trying her hardest to not breathe through her nose.

Oliver heaved a resigned sigh, not at all convinced that calling them had been a good idea. The only reason he was going along with any of it was because he trusted Felicity intrinsically. He didn't, for a second, believe in werewolves or magic or Harpies, but he _did_ believe in Felicity. "I still don't understand what you think they can do." he grumbled, because he might be letting things play out but that didn't mean he was pleased about it.

Felicity snorted and Oliver would swear he could hear her rolling her eyes. "That's because you refuse to believe that there's the slightest possibility that something is going on here which we can't even begin to understand. This is what Stiles and his pack do, Oliver. They deal with stuff like this on a daily basis."

"That statement was not nearly as comforting as I think you wanted it to be." Oliver informed her, one corner of his mouth lifting.

Felicity huffed a tiny laugh. "Just give them a chance. They can help us, Oliver. We owe it to our city to let them try."

Silence fell between them, Oliver mulling over her point while Felicity kept an eye out for Stiles and his wolves. She only had to wait another minute before the gunmetal gray SUV pulled to the curb a half a block down and Stiles, Derek, and Isaac climbed out. Felicity watched Derek pause for a beat, his nose wrinkling as he scented the air unpleasantly tainted with death and aquatic life, and then the Alpha was muttering something to Stiles, whose head whipped in Felicity's direction, a warm smile on his lips but a determined glint in his eyes.

"They're here." Felicity informed Oliver lowly, under no delusions that the wolves couldn't hear every word she said.

"Keep your guard up, Felicity." Oliver instructed. "I know that you trust them, but... Please, just be careful."

"I will." Felicity promised just as the pack reached her and Stiles greeted her with a, "I find it horribly unfair that you still look gorgeous even though I assume you have yet to sleep."

Felicity grinned at him, tension she hadn't even realized she'd been carrying seeping out of her shoulders despite the low chuff of irritation in her ear. "It's my superpower." she laughed. She offered a nod of greeting in Isaac's direction and a deferential "Alpha Hale." to Derek.

Stiles rolled his eyes at the formality, but only said, "I thought unparalleled hacking skills were your super power." He raised one brow above a playful smirk.

"That too." Felicity conceded as she withdrew her cell from the pocket of her skirt. She typed out a quick text to Quentin to let him know her '"experts" had arrived. Giving her attention back to the pack, she gave them the rundown. "The victim is a twenty-four year old female, found by a security guard on his morning rounds. Body is in the exact same condition as the others."

"How many people have been on scene?" Derek asked, eyes scanning around them even as he tried to filter through scents.

"Six officers, the coroner, and the security guard. Our contact has tried to keep contamination to a minimum." Felicity informed him, turning in place and motioning them to follow her.

Isaac and Derek moved to follow but Stiles stayed put, gaze sweeping the surrounding buildings.

Derek stopped, turning back to ask, "What's wrong?"

"I need a vantage point." Stiles announced. "I can't help map out scents if I can't see the entire scene."

Felicity gnawed on her bottom lip in deliberation before she made a decision. "Oliver is on that roof." She pointed to the tallest warehouse surrounding the scene. "There are stairs at the back of the building."

Stiles beamed. "Thanks. You guys go with Felicity and get a close up." he said, practically shooing them away.

"No." Derek and Oliver both snapped, though Stiles could only hear Derek's objection.

"Fine." Stiles relented easily with a roll of his eyes. "I'll take Isaac with me. You go with Felicity." he told Derek.

Felicity pressed her lips together to stop from smiling at the way Derek capitulated to Stiles' wishes, also ignoring the huff of annoyance in her ear from Oliver. She and Derek stood in place and watched as Stiles and Isaac disappeared behind the warehouses.

"Ready?" Felicity asked, grateful that the nervous edge stayed out of her voice. It wasn't that she was afraid of Derek, per se. It was the unknown wolf that made her skin prickle uncomfortably, not the man.

Derek gave one sharp jerk of his chin and motioned for her to lead the way.

 

*

 

"Fancy meeting you here." Stiles quipped as he stepped onto the warehouse roof, catching sight of Oliver standing rigidly by the opposite wall. He was only a little surprised to see Oliver dressed in jeans and a Henley rather than his leathers, but guessed it was more inconspicuous in the daylight if he dressed normally.

"Stiles." Oliver sighed. Funny how he'd learned to sound exasperated so quickly.

He offered a nod of acknowledgment to Isaac and then turned his back on them, giving his focus back to the scene below, where Derek and Felicity had just stepped into view, Felicity speaking quietly with Lance while Derek walked a slow circle around the newest corpse. It was a deliberate move on Oliver's part, offering them his back. He wanted them to know he had no reason to fear them, that he dismissed them as a threat.

Briefly Stiles wondered if Oliver would have done the same thing if Derek had stepped out onto the roof along with them. He was willing to bet money on the negative.

"Well, don't let us disturb you." Stiles said, already heading for the opposite end of the ledge from where Oliver stood, Isaac at his side with watchful eyes that belayed his readiness to protect Stiles with a moments notice. "This won't take long and then we'll be out of your hair. Though," he added, considering, "if you're susceptible to magic you might want to, like, go for a walk or something."

Oliver leveled him with his best _bitch please_ look, purposefully staying put.

"Your call, dude." Stiles shrugged as he sat cross-legged on the lip of the roof, Isaac hovering at his side, hands poised to snatch him back should he even so much as wobble.

Oliver watched, intrigued despite himself, as Stiles rolled up his sleeves and let his eyes fall closed, elbows resting on his thighs and palms open, facing the scene below. The three of them were completely silent for a long moment in which Oliver began to wonder when the smoke and mirrors bullshit was supposed to start. He was just about to break the silence and demand that Stiles and his "wolves" get out of dodge and stop wasting his time when something in the air shifted.

A chill snaked up Oliver's spine, goosebumps rising up on every inch of his skin, each and every tiny hair follicle going stiff and standing at attention. A low pitched buzz of sound filled his head, like the hum of electricity, resonating deep in his chest and making his pulse quicken despite his best efforts to control it, a skill he mastered on Lian Yu and did daily without conscious thought. His stomach flipped, a hint of nausea rolling through his gut as the oddest sensation of something tugging behind his sternum made his mouth fall open in astonishment.

Where there had been a light breeze just a second before the air was now eerily still, as though even Mother Nature dared not disturb whatever was happening. Oliver caught the tail end of a whispered phrase tumbling from Stiles' lips and then the kid was opening wide, unfocused and unseeing but disconcertingly clear eyes and staring straight ahead at absolutely nothing.

"What-" Oliver began, only to stutter to a stop when the air around Stiles _shimmered_.

"You were right, Isaac." Stiles murmured, his voice oddly distant and slightly hollow. "There are a lot of scents here. Mostly human, if I discount Derek's. But, there is..." he trailed off, head tilting curiously. "There's magic, too. I don't recognize it, but it's strong."

"What about the Harpy?" Isaac questioned, watching Stiles intently.

Stiles frowned, his brow wrinkling with focus. Isaac waited patiently, ignoring Oliver completely in favor of giving all of his attention to Stiles. Oliver was grateful that the wolf – Jesus Christ, was he actually starting to believe this shit? - paid him no mind since he was busy scrabbling to make some sense of what he was seeing with his own eyes.

After another oppressively silent moment Stiles spoke. "Okay, I got it. Give me a minute, I should be able to single out those two scents."

Oliver watched, totally enthralled as Stiles raised both hands and swept them through the air, a gesture startlingly similar to the way Felicity moved her hands over the touch screens in the lair. The air around Stiles' hand seemed to ripple and shift, displaced by his movements as he worked, bottom lip caught between his teeth in concentration.

Suddenly, Stiles gagged, listing sideways and falling right into the waiting hands of Isaac.

"Okay?" Isaac asked, the concern in his tone enough to have Oliver's heart softening just the slightest bit.

"M'fine." Stiles shuddered, fighting back another gag. "God, Harpies smell fucking _awful_." he complained as he struggled to get his feet under him.

Oliver noticed that Stiles' knees shook when he finally managed to stand of his own volition, one of Isaac's hands in the small of his back to steady him. He wondered exactly how much energy it took for Stiles to perform the... Charm? Spell? Whatever, he had just performed.

"What...?" Oliver tried to ask, head swimming with what he'd just witnessed and something that reminded him of days long past, of mornings where he'd resurface from the bottom of a bottle only to find his head cracked in two and his stomach settled angrily in his throat.

"What was that?" Stiles offered, eyes refocused and fixed hard on Oliver. "That was me making it easier for my pack to track the scents they need to track in order to find these guys."

"Wait." Isaac interjected, a frown turning down the corners of his mouth. "These guys?"

Stiles nodded, casting a quick glance over the edge of the roof to make sure Derek was listening. "This isn't just a Harpy on a rampage. Someone's helping her."

*

Oliver was already waiting by the time Felicity slid into the driver's seat of her car, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling in the way Oliver knew told of her excitement at having made an advancement in their investigation.

Felicity had no sooner closed the door behind her than she was talking excitedly, a rapid fire string of sentences filling up the smallish interior of the car and crashing harshly into Oliver's splitting head. He winced when she twisted her keys in the ignition, even the quiet purr of the car's engine making his head throb.

Frowning, Felicity shifted in her seat after turning the key back and silencing the engine. "What's wrong?" she queried, eyes searching Oliver's gray washed face. "You don't look so hot."

She reached across the space, laying a hand gently against his forehead. Oliver sighed into the touch, his eyes falling shut as he leaned into it. Her skin was cool, soothing the worst of the pounding in his head and calming the roiling in his belly.

"I'm fine." Oliver tried, knowing it wouldn't be enough to appease her but hoping she'd let it slide for the time being. He didn't know how to even begin to explain what had happened on the roof, or how he'd felt perfectly fine right up until Stiles had done whatever it was he'd done. "It's just a migraine, I think."

Felicity frowned deeply at that, her eyes shadowed with concern. She leaned across him to dig through her glove compartment, pulling out a bottle of Excedrin and pressing it into his hand. "Take a few of these. Derek said that tracking the scents might take a while, but Stiles promised to call if they found anything. You should get some rest while we wait. Oh, and Stiles also said to tell you that Gatorade is your friend, but I have no idea what that means, so..."

Oliver was less surprised that Stiles knew he was suffering than he was to hear Felicity refer to the Alpha by his first name. The kid had warned him, after all. Oliver suppressed the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach at Felicity's apparent new found ease with their supernatural guests and dry swallowed a small handful of the pills.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Felicity asked, her voice as gentle as the hand she laid over his where it rested on the center console.

"Yeah, I'm good." Oliver assured, leaning his head wearily back on his headrest and letting his eyelids flutter shut. "I just need to close my eyes for a little bit. And maybe grab a Gatorade."


	6. Family Ties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey my lovelies! I know that this chapter took a while, but I want to thank you guys for sticking it out. Your love for this story is what keeps me writing it. 
> 
> If you're still reading, thank you and I adore each and every one of you!

While Derek and Isaac had to rely on their noses to follow the two scents Stiles had managed to untangle from the crime scene, Stiles himself only had to follow his eyes. The Harpy's scent glowed in a sickly shade of yellow, while the mysterious trail of magic pulsed a dark and twisted shade of red, veined through with a black so empty Stiles wondered if it was truly a color at all, or if it was the absolute absence of light. 

“Is it another mage?” Derek questioned, turning left when Stiles pointed from the passenger seat.

“Yeah, that'd be my guess. It's definitely not Druidic, isn't drawn from the earth. Whatever it is, it's dark.” Stiles chewed the inside of his cheek as he watched the yellow trail fade into nothing at the end of the deserted street well within the depths of Starling City's warehouse district. “Like, seriously dark. Turn here.”

Derek did as he was told, steering the SUV down a one way street.

“A mage and a Harpy walk into a bar.” Isaac mumbled from the backseat, grinning at his own joke.

“What did you get from the scene?” Stiles asked, ignoring Isaac in favor of focusing on the fading crimson trail.

“It's more what I didn't get.” Derek scowled, pulling over at Stiles' direction. All three of them climbed out of the car, the wolves following Stiles when he stepped into the mouth of an alley. “I didn't smell anything to suggest madness.” Derek explained, shrugging when Stiles cast a raised brow over his shoulder. “Whatever is going on with this Harpy, I don't think she's crazy.”

“Then what the hell is she doing?” Isaac asked, wrinkling his nose in disgust when the wind in the alley shifted and they were hit with a wall of stench, garbage and urine the predominant scents.

Derek shrugged, but Stiles was the one that responded. “The magic trail flickers out right here.” He pointed to a gangway between two warehouses, empty except for an old cardboard box that looked to have at one point been someone's home.

“Can you get it back?” Derek wondered, eyes scanning the ground around them.

Stiles was already shaking his head. “It doesn't fade or jump somewhere else, it straight up ends. There's nothing to get back.”

“Fuck.” Derek growled in annoyance. 

“It's just as well.” Stiles sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I need to eat something before I fall over anyway, and we need to call Scott. Looks like we're gonna need the rest of the pack, after all.”

 

*

 

Oliver woke with a start, the pounding in his head having softened to a dull ache and the contents of his stomach having settled back where they were supposed to be. Falling asleep hadn't been his intention, he'd only meant to close his eyes to stop them from feeling as though they were being stabbed with needles every time he blinked. But, sleeping was apparently exactly what he'd done. If his phone was to be believed it was nearly two o'clock in the afternoon by the time Oliver forced himself up from the roll-away bed to stagger across the empty lair.

Emerging from the bathroom, one hand typing out a text while the other rubbed at his temple, Oliver was relieved to hear the familiar click of high heels on the steel staircase.

“Oh, good, you're awake.” Felicity grinned, holding up a cardboard tray with Big Belly burger bags and a pair of take-out cups nestled inside. “I brought you lunch. Grease is apparently the cure for magical hangovers, as well as the regular kind.” 

Oliver took the box from her, setting it on a nearby table. “Magical hangovers?” he questioned.

Felicity nodded. “Stiles' term, not mine. He called while you were asleep, said to make sure you ate something after you woke up. I guess a crash is pretty typical the first few times. What was it like, anyway?”

Oliver didn't have to ask to know what she was referring to. “Unbelievable.” he answered honestly, awe tinging the single word. “I'm still not sure I can trust what I saw. I know that I saw it, that I felt it, but I'm...”

“Having a hard time believing?” Felicity guessed, poking a straw into her cup. Oliver nodded, eyebrows knotting together over a frown as he unwrapped a burger. “Well, you'd better wrap your head around it before the rest of the pack arrives.” Felicity informed him, popping a fry into her mouth.

“The rest of the pack?” he asked, unsure. “How many more wolves is that?”

“According to the database, the Hale-McCall pack consists of seven wolves, two hunters, a banshee, three humans, and Stiles.” Felicity recited from memory. “I don't know how many of them are actually coming to Starling, but I'd be willing to bet it's going to be more than a few.”

“I thought Stiles was human.” Oliver said, before taking a huge bite of his lunch.

“I guess so.” Felicity lifted one shoulder, letting it fall as she settled into a chair, kicking her feet up and tucking her bare toes beneath Oliver's thigh. “But, it feels strange to not recognize how different he is from us typical, everyday humans. Even the database lists him as something other than entirely human, and he wrote the damn thing.”

Oliver considered that, chewing thoughtfully. After swallowing he had to agree. “You should ask him to show you his magic.” Felicity arched a brow high at that, surprise evident in her expression. Oliver continued, “It's hard to deny all of this; Werewolves, magic, all of it... It's hard to pretend it doesn't exist when you see what Stiles can do.”

Felicity smiled, an expression that was somehow proud and dripping with affection, making Oliver's stomach clench. “Is Oliver Queen admitting he was wrong?” she questioned teasingly.

Ignoring the all too familiar swooping sensation in his gut, Oliver returned her smile. “Do you want to take a picture to memorialize the occasion?”

“As a matter of fact, I would.” Felicity rolled her eyes, biting into a french fry. After a second, her expression shifted, understanding and something like sympathy lighting her eyes. “I just... I know how hard it is for you to accept things at face value. Even after all this time you still doubt everything, everyone, until proven wrong beyond a shadow of a doubt. And even then, sometimes you're too stubborn to accept what's staring you right in the face. Werewolves and magic? I thought it would take more than watching Stiles cast a spell for you to believe.”

Oliver swallowed his bite of burger, leaning back in his chair and meeting Felicity's gaze. “I did too, honestly. But... You didn't see it, Felicity. I've never seen anything like it, never felt that kind of power before. It was like... Like Stiles was a natural disaster just waiting to happen, all packaged into this breakable human shell. The air around us _shimmered_ , Felicity. You know how air above hot blacktop ripples in waves? Like that, but more.”

“The hangover probably helped with the reality accepting aspect.” Felicity mused, using her feet to pull her chair closer to Oliver's.

Chuckling, Oliver reached out and stole a fry from Felicity's lap. “Probably. Hangovers are how I learned most of my lessons as a teenager.”

 

*

 

Back in Beacon Hills, Scott stood in the living room of the Hale house, arms crossed over his chest as he surveyed his pack. 

“So,” Erica grinned from Boyd's lap, her scarlet painted lips curling at the corners, “basically what you're saying is 'road trip'?”

Scott shook his head fondly, not at all surprised that his pups were making light of the situation. It wasn't that they wouldn't throw themselves into the fray without a thought for their own survival, because they would do it in heartbeat, with the full confidence of their pack having their backs. Over the years though, the pack had learned to keep things light until they got too heavy to keep defying gravity. It was a way for them to keep their heads level, of not letting the fear and worry consume them. Scott was convinced Stiles was behind the strategy, and was beyond grateful that the pack followed his lead without question, in this and just about everything else. 

“Yeah.” Scott sighed, nodding to Allison when she held up her phone in question, wanting to know if she should call her father. “Road trip.”

“Call 'em out.” Jackson waved a hand from his recliner where Lydia was perched on the arm. 

“Peter and Danny, you two will stay here to help Chris and the Sheriff hold down the fort.” At the nods of understanding he received, Scott continued, “Jackson, Lydia, Allison, and I will take the Toyota, and Boyd and Erica will take the Camaro.”

“Seriously?” Boyd hefted a brow at Scott's orders while Erica squealed excitedly, “I'm driving!”

“Not one scratch!” Scott pointed at Erica, his eyes hard. “You scratch my car and I'll rip your arm off and beat you with it.”

Erica blinked innocently, an expression that was at direct odds with the smirk tugging up one side of her mouth. “You're more protective of that car than Derek ever was.” she told him, her tone dripping sweetness.

“That's because it came from Derek.” Lydia rolled her eyes, already mapping out the quickest route to Starling City on her phone.

Scott didn't bother arguing with that. The whole pack knew how much it meant to Scott when Derek gave him the Camaro. No one talked about the tears in Scott's eyes when Derek had handed him the keys after their high school graduation, even if they teased him mercilessly for being Derek's favorite. Scott didn't care. The Camaro was a symbol of how far he and Derek had come in their relationship and he felt no shame in being emotional about that.

“Dad said he'll call the Sheriff.” Allison announced, coming back into the living room as she stuffed her phone into her back pocket, saving Scott from having to respond. “We're good to go.”

“We'll leave in the morning.” Scott informed them. “Stiles said that there's some stuff we need to discuss before we meet up with this... Team.” He cast a sideways glance at Jackson, before refocusing on the pack as a whole.

“So, this 'Arrow' guy and his team are responsible for the breach?” Danny questioned from the couch, voice skeptical. 

“One of them is an IT expert.” Scott shrugged one shoulder. “According to Isaac, her name is Felicity and she's some kind of genius.”

Lydia glanced up at that, the bored expression on her face shifting into one of open curiosity. As one of their resident geniuses, Scott guessed she was eager to investigate that particular claim.

“We're sure that this is a good idea, right?” Erica asked. “I mean, we're not walking into some kind of trap, are we?”

“Stiles trusts them.” Scott stated plainly. That was enough for him and it would be enough for the betas, too. “As for the Harpy and the dark mage... I guess we just wait and see.”

As the pack filtered out, each of them heading off to their respective rooms and homes in order to pack for the trip, Scott caught Jackson's elbow and jerked his head in the direction of the library. Jackson frowned in confusion but followed his Alpha anyway, leaving Lydia to chat with Allison on the porch.

“What's up?” Jackson asked once they were both inside the library, the heavy oak door closed firmly behind them.

“There's something you need to know about this team, Jackson.” Scott said seriously, the deep crease between his brows looking out of place on his normally grinning face.

Jackson crossed his arms and waited expectantly. 

Running a hand over his face, Scott let out a deep breath and said, “You've never said much about your biological parents.”

Baffled by the apparent change in subject, Jackson's eyebrows knotted together and his shoulders tightened defensively. “So? I don't know enough about them to have anything to say.”

“What do you know?” Scott pressed, not unaware of the heavy weight of confusion and old pain pressing on the pack bond. 

Jackson clenched his jaw, briefly considered ignoring the question, but ultimately pushed the answer past the snarl of emotions in his throat. “I know that they're dead. After the accident... The doctors managed to keep my mother alive long enough to deliver me by c-section, but my father died on scene. Before that, I have no idea. Look, McCall, I don't know what you want from me-”

“Stiles thinks you have a brother.” Scott blurted, wanting to snatch the words back the moment he saw Jackson go rigidly still, his jaw so tight it looked painful and his eyes flashing brilliant blue.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Jackson eventually growled, his words coming out on a lisp around his fangs, his fingers flexing to hold back claws.

Scott didn't flash his eyes at the beta, knowing without question that Jackson's anger had little to do with him and everything to do with the messy tangle of emotions whipping through his own head. 

“A brother.” Scott repeated. “An identical twin brother, actually. His name is-”

“No.” Jackson snapped, shaking his head and backing toward the door. “I don't give a shit what his name is. I don't know what you and Stilinski are playing at here but I don't want any fucking part of it.”

“Jackson, come on. Don't you want to know if you have family out there?” Scott tried to reason.

“I have family _here_ , Scott!” Jackson snarled, a jagged spike of fear hitting Scott straight in the chest, making him wince in sympathy for Jackson. “I have parents, and I have Lydia. This pack... I don't need anyone else.” He could hear the pleading in his own voice but there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Scott moved closer, stopping before he reached Jackson, whose hand was white-knuckling the door handle. 

“No one is saying that, okay? You're ours, Jackson. Have been and always will be. You having a brother doesn't negate that. But, if you wanted to know him, to let him know you... You can do that. It's one hundred percent up to you. Derek said that this guy, he doesn't know anything other than that one of our betas kind of looks like him.” Scott assured him. “If you want us to keep it that way, that's fine. You guys don't have to meet, you don't have to talk, hell you don't even have to be in the same room. But you deserve to know that he's out there, Jackson.”

Jackson blinked back the stinging in his eyes, fighting a losing war against his wolf and the shift rippling beneath his skin. “I can't do this, Scott. I can't-”

“Go.” Scott ordered, jerking his head in the direction of the forest surrounding the house. “I've got Lydia, just go.”

Jackson was gone in flash, his blurred shape disappearing through the doorway before Scott could blink. Heaving a heavy sigh, Scott scrubbed a hand through his hair and headed for the porch where a no doubt extremely agitated redhead was waiting.

 

*

 

“Do you take sugar in your coffee?” Felicity called from her kitchen, voice carrying through to the living room where Stiles had folded himself comfortably into one corner of her couch.

“Two please.” Stiles called back, tapping out an obligatory _“I'm fine. As fine as I was twenty minutes ago. Stop pacing.”_ response to Derek's inquiring text.

Felicity appeared in the doorway carrying with her a tray laden with two mugs and a plate full of cookies. Chocolate chip oatmeal, Stiles noted with a rumble in his stomach. He couldn't help it if he had an appetite comparable to that of an entire pack of wolves. It was a side effect of the magic, a way for his body to try and balance out the expulsion of so much energy by taking in way more than an average human could possibly use in a week's time.

“He freaking out?” Felicity asked, setting the tray on the coffee table and dipping her chin at the cellphone laying quietly in Stiles' lap.

Stiles nodded, a small smile pulling up the corners of his mouth. “Little bit. Wouldn't be Derek if he wasn't.”

“I'm familiar with the type.” Felicity laughed lightly, settling on the opposite side of the couch, body angled toward him. 

Stiles chewed the inside of his cheek to stop his mouth from splitting into a full blown grin. “Oliver a bit overprotective, too?” he questioned, quirking a brow as he grabbed a few cookies from the tray.

“Oh, you don't even know the half of it.” Felicity sighed, cupping her hands around her mug. “Though, to be completely fair, he's gotten better with it. Back in the beginning he wouldn't even let me into the field without a fight. Now that I've got some training under my belt he's not quite as...”

“Stifling?” Stiles supplied, swallowing down most of an entire cookie.

Felicity huffed a laugh. “That's one word for it.”

“I get it.” Stiles told her after taking a sip of his coffee. “When Derek and I met, I didn't have my magic yet. Well, that's not entirely accurate. I had it, I just didn't know it. As far as Derek was concerned, I was just Scott's annoying, fragile human best friend. I think if he could have gotten away with locking me up every time the pack got into something, he probably would have.”

“All of this,” Felicity waved a hand at the air, a gesture Stiles assumed was meant to encompass all things magic and supernatural. “How did it all happen?” Felicity queried. “I mean, from the sound of it, this isn't how you grew up, right? So, how did you get all tangled up with werewolves and Harpies and whatever the hell a Kanima is? If you don't mind me asking.” she added, realizing that maybe she was being nosier than their new friendship allowed.

“Not at all.” Stiles let himself grin then, memories flooding through him, warming him. “It's kind of a long story, totally convoluted and absolutely horrifying in places.” he warned.

Felicity just snuggled into the sofa more deeply, eyebrows lifted expectantly. 

“Right.” Stiles chuckled. “Okay, well, it started before Derek and I even knew each other. Like, way before. He lost most of his family in a fire when he was a teenager. A psychotic bitch of a hunter trapped them inside their home and had it torched. Derek and his sister, Laura, were at a friend's house that night, so they were spared. The only survivors were their Uncle Peter and their younger sister, Cora, but no one knew about her until years later.”

He paused to make sure Felicity was alright, knowing how horrible this story was to hear for the first time. She was listening intently, though, her eyes clouded with sympathy but steeled to hear the rest.

Stiles continued, “Peter was burned over more than half of his body. He slipped into this vegetative type state, trapped inside his own mind and the burnt shell of who he used to be. That kind of trauma... It changes a person, you know? Peter wasn't exactly benevolent before the fire, but that night snapped something inside him. Beacon Hills was quiet for a long time, just a normal, quiet little town. Derek and Laura were in New York, Peter was in town but he was in the hospital, the hunters were gone... It wasn't until Scott got bit that all Hell broke loose.”

“McCall, right?” Felicity asked, remembering the other Alpha's profile from her perusal of the database.

“The one and only.” Stiles smiled, all affection. “We've been joined at the hip since the sandbox. If one of us was into it, the other wasn't far behind. Anyway, there was an ill-advised trip into the woods in search of a body-” Felicity's eyebrows shot up and Stiles snorted, “Don't ask.” before he picked up the thread of his story, “It was the middle of the night, and we didn't know that there were bigger, badder things in the dark to be afraid of than just my dad and his deputies. Long story short, Scott got bitten by a rogue Alpha and turned into a werewolf. Derek came back from New York looking for Laura, only to find out that the Alpha that turned Scott was only an Alpha because they'd killed Laura and stole her power. It gets worse.” Stiles warned when Felicity's face registered her shock.

“Seriously?” she balked.

“So much worse.” Stiles shook his head. “So, Scott hated being a wolf at first. He thought it made him evil or whatever. Which is ridiculous because Scott is the best, most genuinely good fucking person you'll probably ever meet. Regardless, he resented the bite. It probably didn't help that we were convinced that Derek was the one who killed Laura, subsequently getting him arrested by my dad and pinning a target on his back. 

As it turned out, Peter was actually the one dropping bodies. He'd regained his mobility and lured Laura back just to kill her. Unfortunately, he'd also lured back the Argent hunters. It all kind of devolved into a massive shitfest after that. 

Scott fell in love with Allison Argent. Really sweet girl, actually, once you get past the last name. Uh, where was I? Oh, right. Derek almost died a bunch of times, Allison's Aunt Kate turned out to be the one who killed Derek's family, half of our pack was almost killed in the fallout after Peter managed to rip out Kate's throat, and Allison's grandfather turned her temporarily insane. 

The only good things to come out of that particular war were Derek killing Peter and inheriting Laura's Alpha powers, and me discovering my magic.”

“What was that like?” Felicity asked curiously. “I can't imagine waking up one day and just... BAM! You're magic.”

Stiles let out a laugh, scrubbing the back of his knuckles along the edge of his chin. “It was definitely weird.” he agreed. “But, it wasn't all at once. It started out small, with me just being able to cast a mountain ash circle when we needed one and little things like that. It took years for me to become the mage I am now, to earn my place as the Hale-McCall emissary and do things like this.”

Felicity's eyes widened in shock, gaze fixed in amazement at the undulating ball of blue flames held in Stiles' open hand. “Wow.” she breathed.

Curling his fingers into his palm to extinguish the flame, Stiles smiled. “I know, right? That was pretty much me for the first few months. I had a hard time believing that I had all this power inside me, this well of dormant energy that everyone kept telling me I was born with... But, eventually, I realized that having this power, learning how to wield it the right way, gave me the ability to help my pack, my family, in ways I never could before. And then...”

“You don't have to tell me.” Felicity told him apologetically, reaching out to clasp her fingers around Stiles' hand. She could read something on his face, something in his eyes that told her that whatever he was going to say was hard for him. “I shouldn't pry like this, I'm sorry.”

“No, it's not that.” Stiles shook his head, squeezing her fingers in reassurance. “It's just... I lost my mother when I was younger.”

Felicity's eyes went soft and sad, but she didn't offer condolences. She just waited, ready to listen. 

Stiles found himself wanting to tell her, trusting her instinctively to take what he shared and keep it close. “Scott's boss, Deaton, is a Druid. It's kind of like a mage, but their magic is drawn from the earth rather than being inherently theirs. Deaton's sort of my magical mentor, I guess. He's the one who taught me how to use my powers, how to control them.”

“If his magic is different, how did he know how to teach you?” Felicity questioned, her hand still wrapped around his. 

Stiles' eyes glittered with something akin to pride. “That, my dear Bombshell Genius, was exactly my question. Apparently Deaton had just been waiting for me to ask, per instructions given to him by my mother.”

Felicity made a tiny gasping sound. “He knew her?”

“He did.” Stiles nodded, smiling a little sadly. “They were friends, both acting consultants to the Hale pack back in the day. Turns out that Derek's mother, Talia, and my mom were really good friends, too. They grew up together, you know? They were pack.” Stiles' eyes watered and he rolled his lips between his teeth, forcing back the swell of emotion that always accompanied the retelling of this story.

Felicity had tears in her eyes by then, too. She'd shifted closer on the sofa, her knees pressed into Stiles' thigh, offering the comfort of proximity and silent support.

“My mother was an extremely powerful mage. Our magic has been passed down through the ages, growing and evolving with each generation.” Stiles explained. “Unfortunately, even magic as powerful as ours has its limits. Talia offered my mom the bite when it turned out that our magic couldn't save her. But, the bite doesn't always take. It either turns you or it kills you, and my mom wasn't one of the lucky ones. 

So, Talia and Deaton both promised to teach me when the time came. Talia was killed before she could keep that promise, before I was old enough to ask. If it weren't for Deaton, I never would have known about that part of my mother's life. 

My dad... He knew about all of it, but after she died it was like he couldn't think about it, you know? Like magic had let her die and he blamed it for her having to leave us. It wasn't easy, telling him that I followed in her footsteps.”

“And now?” Felicity prodded gently. 

“Now? I think he's realized that I'm going to do whatever it takes to protect my pack and the people I love, and that magic lets me do that. He can look at me now and not just see what happened to my mom, but who I am because of her, because half of me is her.”

“And Derek's stopped trying to lock you up away from all the action.” Felicity noted, one corner of her mouth twitching.

Stiles let out a watery laugh. “For the most part, yeah. That took a lot longer, though. Right up until he watched me single-handedly destroy a Japanese fox demon that tried to worm its way into my head.”

“I don't know what the appropriate level of astonishment is for something like that, but I can tell you that on a scale of one to ten, I am at a solid 'Holy shit that sounds impressive'.” Felicity grinned, relaxing a little and giving him a congratulatory thump on the leg.

“Well, I mean, not to brag or anything, but destroying a demon is hella difficult. Almost impossible, really.” Stiles shrugged carelessly but his eyes were full of light again.

“Color me suitably awed.” Felicity smiled at him, friendly and open.

They fell into easier conversation after that, swapping stories and experiences with easy familiarity. Stiles found that they were quick to settle into a comfortable camaraderie, spilling secrets and confidences without a second thought. They'd established a solid sense of trust between them and it was simple, natural.

They talked about the pack and Felicity's team, about their families and the families they'd chosen. Felicity told Stiles about her relationship with Oliver, about the barrier between them that seemed to be slowly crumbling. She told him about the time before she knew who Oliver really was, when he would come to her with poorly thought out lies and barely concealed truths, how she'd thought he was charming and dangerous, trustworthy despite his ridiculous lies. She told Stiles about how she and Oliver always seemed to save each other, in all the most important ways.

Stiles told Felicity about he and Derek, how they'd hated each other in the beginning and then fallen in love somewhere along the way without either of them noticing. He told her about the day Scott locked them both in the bank vault and refused to let them out until they stopped fighting long enough to admit how much they cared about each other. How Scott whined for a month afterward, claiming to have been scarred for life by the sight and smell of them when he finally let them out. 

They traded their versions of war stories, spoke of love and loss, the ghosts that haunted them and the future possibilities that did the same.

By the time they lost steam, seemingly having hit every possible topic of conversation in the universe, Stiles' eyes were heavy. 

“I'd better get going.” he yawned, pushing himself up from the couch with noodley limbs. “The pack will be here in the morning and the odds of them letting me sleep in are approximately zero to never gonna happen.”

“Let me grab my keys, I'll give you a ride.” Felicity halted him before he could call for a cab. 

Stiles grinned his thanks. 

“This was fun.” he told her when she dropped him off at the hotel, ignoring Derek waiting at the door for him. “We should do it again sometime. Maybe after all this bloodshed is over.”

“Definitely.” Felicity beamed, reaching across the console to pull him into a hug. “Call me tomorrow, after the pack gets settled. Oliver and I have to be at the office until one, but after that we should probably get everyone together.”

Stiles nodded as he climbed out of the car. “Will do, Gorgeous.”

Derek was on him before Felicity even made it out of the hotel driveway, his face mashed into the slope of Stiles' neck, his arms banded around his waist. 

“Not that I don't appreciate the groping, but could you stop growling? It tickles.” Stiles teased, wrapping his arms around Derek's neck to pull him closer.

“Shut up.” Derek grunted, snuffling Stiles' throat. He made a disgruntled sound, low and a bit whiny, making Stiles' chest rumble with laughter. 

“Let me guess.” Stiles sighed exaggeratedly, rubbing his cheek in Derek's hair. “Lilacs?”


	7. Meet The Pack

“Oliver.”

Startling slightly, in and of itself enough to tell Felicity that he was distracted, Oliver sat a bit straighter on the corner of Felicity's desk and aimed for casual, arms crossed over his chest and one ankle hooked around the other. 

“Hmm?” he tried, brows up and eyes wide over a mouth with lips curled inward. 

Felicity made a disbelieving sound, a scoff and a laugh all rolled up in one. “Want to just tell me what's on your mind?” she asked, giving him a quick side-eye before returning her eyes to the tablet in her lap. “We both know you'll feel better if you do.”

Oliver bit his lips together tighter for a moment, and Felicity could feel his eyes on her. It was almost a physical weight, the way he watched her. She wrestled back a shiver and tried to focus on the database in her lap, on memorizing all the pack members Stiles had told her were coming into Starling City. 

“I was just.” Oliver started, stopped. Felicity waited patiently. “How was coffee, last night? With Stiles.”

Ah, there it was. 

Felicity waited a beat, then set aside her tablet. She turned her chair to face Oliver more directly, her eyes soft and understanding. 

She got it. Really and truly, she understood. After the small handful of years that had passed since that single, ill-fated date, nothing between them had changed. Oliver was still in love with Felicity and she with him, and somehow it just never seemed to be the right time. 

They had the dance memorized by now, this back and forth waltz that never actually went anywhere. It was almost a routine, the way they circled one another, too distant to come together and too close to fall apart. It was an endless cycle of frustration and unwavering affection, and neither of them seemed capable, or motivated enough, to break their way out of it.

Oliver never really dated anymore, not since he told Felicity that he loved her, in reverse. Felicity, on the other hand, dated every now and then. She dated Barry for a little while, but that was never anything more than a bit of fun between friends. She'd briefly dated Ray Palmer, but... Well, that could have ended better. After Ray, there had been a few forgettable dalliances, but nothing ever stuck. 

In all honesty, Felicity simply found it unfair to potential love interests to let herself believe any relationship she had, any relationship that wasn't with Oliver, had any serious potential. Somehow, it always came back to her hooded-hero and the feelings they couldn't dig themselves out from beneath.

Still, Felicity tried. And with every single attempt, Oliver would put on the mask, pretend he didn't care that she wasn't with him. He would play up the supportive friend role, the “I just want what's best for you” angle. He would tell her she looked beautiful when she went out on dates, while trying and failing to hide the sadness in his eyes. He would play as nice as was possible for him whenever she brought a date around their friends, though she tried not to do that if it was avoidable. Oliver was perfectly polite when it happened, though, more than Felicity could have hoped given their situation. But then, with every inevitable break-up, Oliver would be just a smidgen too pleased to have Felicity back and all to himself, even if he didn't have her in the way he truly wanted her. 

It was second nature by then, a pattern neither of them truly felt compelled to break. 

“Coffee was good.” Felicity told Oliver, her head resting back on her chair. “Great, even. Stiles is an amazing guy, you know? I think we'll be really good friends after all of this.”

Oliver's face went all hopeful with that, though he tried to hide it. “Friends?”

“Oliver.” Felicity couldn't help but laugh under her breath, eyes rolling in their sockets. “You do realize that Stiles and Derek are together, right? Like, _together_ , together. They're practically married. Actually, if I understand it correctly, in the eyes of Supernatural Law they actually _are_ married.”

Oliver frowned a little, his head tilted as he thought over what little he'd seen of the two them. “That... Actually makes a lot of sense.” he finally said.

Felicity laughed again, this time a full, tinkling laugh that Oliver couldn't help but grin at. “For someone whose ability to read people is a point of pride, that really should have been obvious, Oliver.”

“Yeah,” Oliver conceded with a frown, “it probably should have been. I guess I was just distracted by-”

“Jealousy?” Felicity offered, one brow arched high above the frame of her glasses.

Oliver smiled sheepishly and sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. “Maybe.” he admitted. “Stiles is smart, Felicity, nearly as smart as you are. He understands all your techno babble and I... Don't. And, he is _literally_ magic. I know all of this supernatural stuff fascinates you, and that Stiles is more than willing to share it with you. Is it so far out of the realm of possibility that you and he might hit it off?”

“Not at all.” Felicity allowed. “But, there are two pretty major flaws in your argument.” she smirked, spinning her chair the couple of inches it took so that her feet bumped his, her eyes sparkling with what Oliver thought looked a lot like flirtation. “The first is that Stiles and Derek are so adorably in love with one another, I'm not even sure that I'd register on either of their radar.”

“You register on everyone's radar, Felicity.” Oliver threw in, leaning forward a bit, his fingers curled around the edge of her desk as he leaned into her space.

Rolling her eyes again, Felicity waved that off. “Shut up, you get the point.”

“I refuse to believe it, but I'll allow the argument.” Oliver chuckled. “What's the second one?”

“The second, would be you.” Felicity informed him, her eyes steady as they met his. 

Oliver's heart stuttered, his gaze sweeping over her face, drinking in all the little details he'd memorized ages ago. “Me, huh?” he asked, voice carrying a hint of breathlessness.

This blatant teasing was new, the total opposite of the way their relationship normally worked. They'd built a solid foundation based on feigned ignorance and determined avoidance, save for the rare moments of weakness. This- Felicity angling her body toward him, so close that Oliver could feel the heat her skin was throwing off; The way she was looking at him, all open affection and honesty -it made Oliver's stomach flip with nervous, hopeful anticipation.

“Don't gloat, Oliver.” Felicity's mouth curled at the corners, her pink-painted lips curving attractively. “It's not an attractive quality, especially in a superhero.”

Oliver cocked a brow, leaning in so that he was almost bent over her, his tongue flicking out to moisten his lips. 

Felicity's eyes fell to track the motion. She swallowed hard, her cheeks staining as she shook her head, like she was trying to shake herself back into the reality of their situation. “I, uh- We should probably- Do you want to call Stiles? Or, I... I should probably call. The pack got in this morning, and I told Stiles we'd meet them around two-ish. You think we should grab food for everybody? How much can werewolves eat, anyway? Maybe we should do this at the Foundry, instead-”

Oliver's mouth pulled up at the corners as he watched her become more and more flustered, her chest rising and falling in rapid shifts. 

“Felicity.”

Her head snapped up from where she'd been scrolling through her contacts, her pupils blown wide and bottom lip snagged in her teeth. 

“It's you, too.” he told her softly, his expression serious. “You know that, right?”

Felicity searched his face, her heart thudding a heavy rhythm beneath her ribs. “Yeah.” she eventually murmured, soft and vulnerable, and so painfully honest. “Yeah, I know.”

 

*

 

“I feel like I should ask one more time,” Scott said, his voice ringing clear with apprehension as he climbed out of the driver's seat of his SUV, “are we sure about this? You're positive that this isn't a trap, right? We're not, like, handing ourselves over to be wolf-kabobs or whatever?”

The pack assembled slowly, each member sliding out of one of the two SUVs they'd taken to the meeting.

“Really, Scott?” Stiles asked, head tilted in fond exasperation. “Wolf-kabobs?” 

“Hey, man, you never know!” Scott defended, his frown deep and eyes serious as he looked up at the warehouse Felicity had texted them the address of. “What do we really know about these people, Stiles?”

Allison appeared at Scott's side, a warm, reassuring presence. She curled into his side as Isaac fell into place on the opposite side, his entire body broadcasting how relaxed he was. Stiles was grateful that Isaac felt comfortable with Felicity and Oliver, and hoped that he would send that calming energy through his bond to Allison and Scott. 

“We know that Felicity figured out we were dealing with a Harpy.” Derek tossed in, slipping an arm around Stiles shoulders as he came to a stop beside him. 

“You just took her at her word?” Lydia questioned, eyeballing the building warily. “That's not like you.”

Stiles didn't hear anything other than genuine curiosity, but the question still made him bristle. “I independently verified her findings, but yeah, pretty much. Look, I know that with our history, you guys are wary. But, we can trust Felicity.” he told his pack, looking around the loose cluster of them to meet each of their eyes. “Her team, too.”

“If they wanted to hurt us they would have done it already.” Derek reasoned as he pulled Stiles closer to his side. “They've had plenty of chances.”

“Awesome, can we go in now?” Erica huffed, tugging Boyd along beside her as she shuffled closer to the building's entrance. “We look ridiculous standing around out here like idiots.”

With an eye roll that was more body roll than anything, Stiles led Derek inside and across the lobby to the bank of elevators on the far side. There weren't any other people in the lobby, but Stiles didn't really expect there to be. From what Felicity had said the night before, Oliver owned the building. His apartment took up the entire top floor, and the only other residents in the refurbished warehouse were Roy and Oliver's sister, Thea, a few floors below. Stiles felt a burning desire to point out the similarities between where Oliver chose to set up residence and the loft Derek lived in until the Hale house had been rebuilt. Given Derek's reticence at being compared to Oliver, Stiles valiantly resisted the urge. 

“Here goes nothing.” Stiles muttered, earning himself a grin from Derek as the elevator's door clanged open to reveal a large open space that seemed to serve as a foyer of sorts.

“Stiles, Derek.” Oliver greeted as he stepped into view, reaching a hand out to shakes first Stiles', then Derek's hand, his gaze sweeping over the rest of the pack where they were gathered behind them. “Come in.”

Stiles threaded his fingers with Derek's and tugged him into the open foyer, pleased when the rest of the pack filed in behind them. “Sorry we're a little late.” Stiles apologized as he followed Oliver down a wide hallway. “We had a few issues to sort out.”

Oliver tossed a small smile over his shoulder, “Don't worry about it. Felicity just got here, herself.”

“Are John and Roy here?” Stiles asked, eyes flicking back to where Jackson was pressed into Lydia's side, his jaw clenched and ticking with nerves. 

Oliver followed Stiles' gaze, his eyes widening a fraction before he schooled his expression. “We thought it might be a good idea for Roy and Thea to hang back a little, just until your pack adjusts. John and his wife, Lyla, are here, though.”

Relief rippled through the pack bond like a healing balm, soothing and warm. Stiles wasn't sure exactly where it originated, but he was glad for it all the same. Jackson was still wary of meeting his brother, of even believing Roy existed at all, and springing the two of them on each other had disaster written all over it. Being in foreign territory was difficult enough without adding fuel to the fire.

“Stiles!” Felicity's beaming face was the first thing Stiles saw when they rounded the corner into an open concept living room. She was sitting on the arm of an over-sized chair, her feet on its cushion, but she shoved herself up when the pack filed in. “Derek, Isaac, nice to see you again.”

“Felicity.” Derek's expression stayed smooth but a spike of warmth caught Stiles by surprise, and he had a feeling it surprised Derek even more. Apparently it was just Felicity's scent on Stiles' skin that Derek disliked, not the woman herself. Stiles poked Derek in the ribs, earning himself a huff and an eye roll, and found himself absurdly pleased to know that Derek was warming up to Felicity.

Introductions took longer than Stiles expected, but he was happy to sit back and watch as Derek took the lead. Pride poured out of Derek with each member of his pack he introduced to the Starling City team, familial affection woven through each of their names as he said them out loud. Stiles' heart sat full and light in his chest by the time Derek finished running through their roster.

Felicity, unsurprisingly, took the reigns for her team. Scott's shoulders lost more and more of their tension the longer Felicity rambled on about John and Lyla, his eyes melting into soft brown puddles when Felicity mentioned their daughter, Sara. 

Scott was a sucker for babies.

“So, how did the meeting with the other pack go?” Felicity asked once everyone had settled into a comfortable sprawl on various couches, chairs, and a few patches of floor. 

Stiles had already filled her in on the meeting with Kiara and her pack, but he appreciated her letting Derek fill the rest of them in. It was a unifying tactic, he knew, meant to give both teams a sense of cohesion over the sharing of information.

“Kiara's pack is content to let us handle the Harpy.” Derek announced from where he was seated at Stiles' feet, his back against the chair Stiles had tucked himself into. “She's not interested in involving her pack in a problem that doesn't directly effect them.”

“What about the database?” Lydia asked, one brow arched in question. “She can't be pleased with that development.”

When Derek didn't immediately answer, Allison sighed and Scott's brows furrowed as he said, “You didn't tell her.” It wasn't a question.

“We thought it was better not to.” Isaac said softly, his attention landing on Stiles for a beat before flicking away. 

“I didn't see the point in causing a rift when there isn't any reason to.” Derek told them, his voice holding a hint of the power underneath. “Felicity isn't going to use the database against us, and the chances of someone else breaching the site are nearly non-existent.”

“That's true.” Felicity nodded, her cheeks pinking prettily when every set of eyes in the room landed on her and Oliver's hand found her knee. “I- It's just... I have absolutely no intention of using the database for anything other than research if the need presents itself. And, I honestly don't know anyone else who is even capable of doing what I did.”

“Still,” Scott added hesitantly, looking to Derek, “don't you think she has a right to know?”

“No.” Derek snapped, his eyes flashing Red.

Stiles pushed calming energy at Derek, watched as his shoulders slumped and he leaned back into the hand Stiles curled around the back of his neck. “It's because of me, Scott.” he announced, his thumb never ceasing its soothing rub at the base of Derek's skull.

“What, why?” Scott asked, clearly baffled.

“Because I'm the one that created the database, bro.” Stiles explained. “If Kiara found out that I let someone hack it, that the site isn't as secure as Danny and I promised it would be? If other factions found out?”

Stiles saw the moment Scott understood. “Oh.”

“That's a reasonable assumption, actually.” Lyla admitted, her expression soft, though Stiles could see the razor blades beneath. 

She had adjusted seamlessly to the existence of werewolves, a fact that hadn't gone unnoticed by Stiles. To him, that either meant that she was the roll-with-the-punches type, or she'd already been aware of their reality. Stiles, running on pure intuition, was willing to bet on the latter.

“If someone hacked an A.R.G.U.S database-” Felicity cleared her throat, “who wasn't a member of my team,” Lyla qualified, “-we would have no choice but to put them down. What you guys are talking about, though... That's about a thousand times worse. You'd have risked more than just national security by that database getting into the wrong hands.”

Felicity paled, her eyes swimming beneath her glasses. “Oh my God, Stiles, I am so sorry! I had no idea-”

“It's not your fault, Felicity.” Derek told her, his tone reassuring. “Of course you didn't know. But, that's why we aren't mentioning it to anyone outside of this room. Understood?” 

Nods and murmurs of assent filled the room, Felicity's team apparently as eager to protect Stiles as the pack was. 

As if on cue the wolves raised their heads in perfect tandem, their attention fixed toward the hallway they'd followed from the elevators.

“Did someone order food?” Isaac asked hopefully, his nose in the air, sniffing curiously.

“Oh!” Felicity jumped up from the arm of Oliver's chair. “That was me. I figured you guys would probably be hungry, and I've always found it easier to strategize on a full stomach. I hope everyone likes Mexican!” she called over her shoulder as she ducked into the hall.

“I love Mexican.” Isaac called back as he rose from the couch beside Scott to follow her.

Stiles smiled fondly after them, startling slightly when Oliver spoke.

“Lunch, then we figure out our next move?” he asked, respectfully aiming his question at Derek and then Scott.

Scott nodded his agreement as Derek said, “Fair enough.”, and Stiles could feel it when the last of the tension seeped out of Derek's spine. 

“Oliver?” Jackson's voice was small in a way the pack hadn't heard since before the Kanima fiasco, his hand firmly clasped around Lydia's much smaller one. “Could I talk to you, privately, before we eat?”

“Sure.” Oliver agreed without a second's hesitation, having expected Jackson's request. Pushing himself up from his seat, Oliver tilted his head in beckoning, “My office is just down the hall?”

Jackson nodded curtly but stood, pulling Lydia with him and falling into step behind Oliver as he exited the room.

Derek leaned his head back into the chair Stiles was sitting in, his head resting beside Stiles' hip as he looked up. “That could have gone worse.” Derek almost whispered, under no illusions that the wolves couldn't hear him if they were listening.

Stiles sighed and combed his fingers through Derek's hair, his body humming with an energy he couldn't explain. He looked down at Derek, a wry smile twisting his lips as he warned, “Yeah, well, it isn't over yet.”


	8. Building Bonds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, my loves! I just wanted to take a second to wish all of you the best for this holiday season, and to say that I am so honored to have each and every one of you reading my work. You guys give me inspiration and I wouldn't be doing any of this if it weren't for you.
> 
> So, thank you and happy holidays!
> 
> Enjoy!

Ushering Jackson and Lydia into his office, Oliver closed the door gently behind him. He crossed the room to lean against the front of his desk, opting for a less formal position than sitting behind it offered. 

He waved a hand at the pair of leather club chairs in front of him. “Please, have a seat.”

Jackson looked wary, his eyes flickering around the room before shifting back to Lydia. Oliver noticed that there never seemed to be any space between the two of them, some kind of skin to skin contact almost always present. 

Lydia smiled reassuringly, threading her fingers through Jackson's and giving them a squeeze. Jaw flexing with strain, Jackson gave a barely perceptible nod and allowed Lydia to tug him toward the chairs.

“Would either of you like a drink?” Oliver offered. “It might make this conversation a little easier.”

With a sympathetic look at Jackson, Lydia was the one who responded, “Alcohol, unfortunately, doesn't work on werewolves quite the same way it does on us. Unless it's made specifically for them, their bodies metabolize it too quickly to feel its effects.”

It was funny, watching the tension ease a bit in the couple's posture, almost as though Lydia's explanation was soothing to them. And, maybe it was. Derek had said that Lydia was the Hale-McCall pack's best and brightest, a fact that Oliver found a little intimidating considering how intelligent he knew Stiles to be. If Lydia had even him beat? It was sort of terrifying to imagine what she could accomplish if she put her mind to it. On the other hand, Jackson must be used to Lydia's intelligence. It seemed to be both comforting and familiar to them, the way Lydia slipped into the citing of facts and knowledge. 

“Fair enough.” Oliver said, setting his palms against the lip of his desk on either side of his hips. “What can I do for you, Jackson?”

For a moment, the younger man looked like a deer caught in headlights. He blinked a handful of times, eyes flickering with a spark of electric blue before he seemed to pull himself together again. 

“I- Derek said that you know him. My...” Jackson hesitated over the word brother, too intimate a term for a man he hadn't known existed until twenty-four hours ago.

Oliver gave his best effort at a gentle smile and nodded. “I've known Roy for a few years, yes.”

“Is he-” Jackson tried, cut himself off with a growl and another flash of his eyes. Lydia cupped a hand around the nape of his neck, rubbed her thumb in the shallow indent below his ear, and he sagged a little beneath her touch. “Can you tell me about him?” Jackson asked, quiet and small, like he wasn't sure that was what he wanted to say.

“I can tell you some.” Oliver told him. “Some of it isn't mine to tell, but I'd be happy to fill in what I can.”

Lydia sent him a grateful look, her eyes sharp but thankful. Oliver guessed it was difficult for these two, trusting the word of a stranger. It had been for the others when they first arrived. Oliver suddenly remembered what Stiles had told them, about the wolves being able to hear a lie in someone's heartbeat. He decided to make a conscious effort not to control his, hoping it would help Jackson if he could hear the truth in whatever Oliver could tell him.

“I just... Is he-” Jackson laughed humorlessly and with more than a little frustration, thrusting a hand into his perfectly sculpted hair and making a mess of it. Oliver waited patiently, letting Jackson work his way through his thoughts.“What's he like?” he finally managed. 

Oliver chose his words carefully, wanting to be as honest as possible without giving away anything that Roy should be able to share on his own. “Roy is... He's a good guy, Jackson. Life hasn't always been kind to him, but he's tough. I met him through my sister, Thea. They've been together, on and off, since they were teenagers.”

Jackson smiled then, just a tiny curl of one corner of his mouth, his eyes meeting Lydia's.

“I took Roy on as a protégé about five years ago.” Oliver continued. “He's smart, loyal, and more kindhearted than he likes people to believe. He's also sarcastic, hot-headed, and can be a complete pain in the ass. But he loves my sister unconditionally, and Felicity adores him. He's family.” 

Jackson stared at Oliver for a long beat, eyes searching and clouded. He appeared to have relaxed, though, his shoulders softer than they'd been when he sat down.

“Did you tell him about me?” he asked.

“No.” Oliver shook his head. “Stiles and Derek thought it would be better to let you decide if you wanted him to know about you before we told him anything. If you want me to, I can talk to him for you. Or, I can call and ask him to drop by, and you can talk to him yourself. I'll respect whatever decision you make.”

Looking to Lydia once more, as though he needed her tell him what he should do, Jackson swallowed thickly. His throat clicked with the motion, his fingers tightening in Lydia's hold. Oliver watched their silent exchange curiously, but only for a moment. It felt wrong to intrude on such a raw, intimate moment. 

With a deep breath and a roughly cleared throat, Jackson spoke, drawing Oliver's attention away from where he'd been deliberately distracting himself by trying to read the titles printed on the spines of books across the room.

“I think- Maybe it would be better if you told him about me first?” Jackson suggested, teeth practically chewing through his bottom lip. Oliver nodded agreeably in understanding. “Just, that way he's not blindsided. I can give you my cell number, and he can call me if he decides... If he wants to see me.”

Jackson looked so young, eyes lost and vulnerable, it reminded Oliver startlingly of Roy when they'd first me. Like Roy, Jackson had a lot of anger buried just below the surface. It was obvious in the rigid line of his jaw, the hard set of his eyes despite the emotions in them he tried to conceal. 

“I'll talk to him.” Oliver promised, standing up and offering Jackson his hand. When Jackson followed his lead, stood to return the gesture, Oliver smiled encouragingly. “You two really are perfect copies of one another, you know.”

Jackson smiled almost shyly at that, before it twisted into something smug and sarcastic, though not cruel. “Yeah, well, I'm still better looking, obviously.”

Lydia rolled her eyes behind him, though her grin was dripping with affection. “Of course you are, sweetie.”

 

*

 

By the time Jackson, Lydia, and Oliver emerged from the office the two separate teams had somehow managed to coalesce into one seamless group.

Allison, Isaac, and Erica were sitting opposite Digg and Lyla at Oliver's massive dining room table, discussing the pros and cons of long-distance engagement versus hand-to-hand combat. Scott and Diggle kept breaking off into side conversations, most of which revolved around fatherhood and Scott's inability to resist any form of adorable, be it in the form of tiny humans or tiny animals. Boyd, as was typical for him, was outwardly relaxed and sitting beside Erica, his mouth silent but eyes watchful. 

Felicity and Stiles were deep in conversation about something to do with salmon that Derek wasn't really listening to. He was more focused on tracing whorls and spirals on the nape of Stiles' neck, watching when magic glittered under his touch and glowed as it chased his fingertip. Stiles didn't pay him any mind, simply let Derek distract himself and shivered every now and then when his touch strayed to the sensitive skin right behind his ears.

Looking up when Jackson and Lydia took their seats, Scott looked over his Beta before giving a nod to Oliver and relaxing back into his seat. Oliver cast a glance around the table, one side of his mouth pulling up into a smirk at how relaxed and at ease everyone appeared to be in one anothers presence.

Felicity caught Oliver's eye, smiling and lifting a brow in question. At Oliver's nod, Felicity told everyone to help themselves to whatever they wanted from the generous spread laid out on the table before them. Unlike while back home, the pack behaved themselves, using their best manners and remembering themselves while everyone loaded their plates.

Derek chuckled under his breath when Scott frowned down at his plate, obviously missing the extra empanada that had mysteriously disappeared, only to reappear in Stiles' hand a second later. Felicity giggled too, and Derek couldn't help but notice the way Oliver's mouth curved with the sound, nor how his eyes flickered toward their end of the table.

“So, can you guys shift on command, or is the change triggered by the moon, like in the movies?” Lyla asked Erica, the two of them apparently having developed some kind of friendship. 

Derek would be willing to wager they'd bonded over a love of big guns and sharp blades.

“It's a little bit of both.” Erica answered, though not before seeking a go ahead from her Alphas. “Our wolves are closer to the surface during the full moon, but, once we learn control, we don't have to shift if we choose not to.”

“Our pack does a moon run every month.” Scott explained. “We shift and run, let the wolves out for a little while. Like Erica said, once a wolf finds their anchor, the shift is something we control on our own.”

“Anchor?” Oliver asked, curious. 

“An anchor is someone or something that tethers us to our humanity.” Isaac tossed in. “It can be anything, really, as long as it reminds us that we are more than our wolves.”

“It helps us maintain control during periods of heightened emotion.” Derek interjected. “Like, when the moon's influence is at its peak, or during a heated argument. Anything that raises our pulse can trigger a shift if the werewolf doesn't have control.”

“That sounds kind of terrifying.” Felicity admitted, eyeing the human pack members with a more impressed eye. 

“It can be.” Stiles agreed, glancing at Scott. “For bitten wolves, the change can be a traumatic experience. It's harder to learn to control the shift, to control their instincts, because they've never had them before. It's different for born wolves.”

“You're a born wolf, right Derek?” Felicity asked.

Derek nodded. “Most of my family were born with the gene.” he confirmed. “Control was never an issue for us.”

“Are you the only born wolf in your pack?” Diggle wondered, watching Derek with new interest.

“No, my uncle and my sister are both born, too.” Derek told the table. “The rest were bitten.”

“By you?” 

Derek's eyes went a little hard around the corners, but he shook his head. “Not all of them.”

“Only an Alpha can give the bite.” Stiles informed them, his hand sneaking beneath the table to settle on Derek's thigh. “Derek's Uncle Peter was the Alpha that bit Scott, Derek bit the others after he inherited the power.”

“How does that work?” Lyla asked next. “The inheriting thing.”

“When an Alpha dies, their power has to go somewhere.” Stiles told them, his voice taking on the quality he used when teaching the Betas. “It either goes to the next Alpha in line or, if they're killed by another werewolf, the one who kills them can steal it.”

“Wait,” Felicity interjected, a frown marring her face, “I thought you said Derek's uncle was killed, and that's how Derek gained the Alpha power.”

Stiles nodded.

“But,” she turned to Derek, “didn't you just say your uncle is a born wolf? Like, present tense?”

The pack exchanged glances, Jackson's going dark and Lydia's shoulders tensing. Stiles had been wondering how long it would take for that connection to be made.

“Yeah, that's a long story.” Stiles hedged, not wanting to dredge up too many old memories. 

The pack had grown, Peter had earned his place among them after years of proving he wasn't the man he used to be. While true that he was still a manipulative asshole, at least now he was on their side. Still, while the pack understood that, Stiles wasn't sure Felicity's team would. And either way, none of the pack wanted to remember the dark, painful time when Peter terrorized each and every one of them, Lydia in particular. 

“Peter was dead, but it didn't exactly take.” Stiles added. “He's back in Beacon Hills with the rest of our pack, holding down the fort.”

“Huh,” Diggle smirked, leaning back in his chair and throwing a look in Oliver's direction. “Guess we all have something in common, after all.”

Derek heard Felicity's heartbeat kick up, smelled the brand new spike of old pain. He nudged Stiles through their bond, sending him a flash of concern he was surprised to feel. 

Stiles knew what Felicity was remembering, what had her expression sliding into something laced with sorrow and grief. They'd talked about it, the time she spent thinking Oliver was dead. It was something that Felicity still carried with her, still gave her nightmares every now and again.

“Hey, so, who wants to see a magic trick?” Stiles blurted, loudly enough that all eyes at the table shifted to him.

Except for Oliver, whose eyes, rimmed in sadness and concern, lingered on Felicity.

Lyla, apparently game for whatever Stiles had in mind, was the first to answer, “It better be something more impressive than pulling a rabbit out of a hat.”

 

*

 

After lunch, everyone settled back in the living room. The pack sprawled out comfortably, much like they did at the Hale house. Stiles couldn't help but smile as he looked around, a sense of calm and familiarity settling deep inside his chest. 

Curled up beside Derek in one of the over-sized chairs, Stiles found himself deep in conversation with Lyla about the boundaries of his magic. Her eyes were bright and enthralled as she listened to his every word, clearly not as familiar with the supernatural as Stiles had first guessed. Or, more accurately, not as familiar with the magical side of things. Her face had lit up like a kid on Christmas morning when Stiles conjured fireworks out of thin air, the sparkling shades of greens, reds, and blues reflecting in her wondering eyes.

“Is there a limit to the amount of power you can channel?” Lyla was asking, chin in her hand. 

“Not really.” Stiles shrugged. “My body doesn't channel the power, like a Druid's would. My magic inhabits my blood, comes from me and not the earth. So, as long as my body has the energy to sustain it, I can pretty much expel as much magic as I need to.”

Oliver laughed lightly, lifting a hand to rub at his temple. “Just remind me not to stand too close next time.”

“Why?” Diggle asked, brows drawn together over a curious frown.

Stiles smiled at Oliver. “Oliver learned the hard way that some people are more sensitive to magic than others. For some, they can stand beside me and not feel the slightest effects. For others, magic can leave them feeling like they went on a week-long bender. It's a sliding scale, but for the most part, the more power behind a casting the more likely the people around me are to feel aftereffects.”

“You got whammied?” Scott laughed, eyeing Oliver with amusement. “Oh man, trust me, I hear you. The first time Stiles tried something big, he leveled about an acre of forest and I slept for three days.”

Everyone laughed then, and Stiles couldn't help the genuine bubble of affection that expanded in his chest. 

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” he huffed good-naturedly.

Derek squeezed Stiles' shoulders affectionately, a small smile curving his lips. “At least you guys have the option of saying no to him. It took me almost a week to grow my eyebrows back after the thing with the dragon went sideways.”

“Hey!” Stiles guffawed indignantly, pinching Derek's thigh and grinning like a fool. “That wasn't my fault! And, to be fair, not having eyebrows is a familiar problem for you. All I did was carry it into your human form.”

Derek rolled his eyes fondly while the rest of the pack snickered. Felicity watched all of them with a soft look in her eyes, like she could see the bonds between them almost as clearly as Stiles could.

“So,” Oliver began, his expression growing more serious, “is that how you're planning to deal with the Harpy? Magic?”

“That depends.” Stiles sighed, sobering slightly. “My guess is yes, since she has someone with magic on her side. It's difficult to fight magic without magic, you know? Physically fighting someone with powers when you don't possess any is like trying to nail Jell-O to a tree.”

“Harpies generally keep to themselves, or their flock.” Derek tossed in. “The fact that this one has aligned herself with a mage is extremely rare. But, since we don't know what their ultimate goal is...”

“It'll be difficult to get ahead of them.” Felicity guessed.

Stiles and Derek both nodded the affirmative. 

“What you're saying is that we have no choice but to wait for them to attack again.” Oliver said, eyes dark and unhappy with having to let someone else be hurt, probably even killed.

“Maybe.” Stiles grimaced, knowing how wrong that felt. Risking innocent lives, even when you were out of other options, it always sat wrong on his shoulders, in his gut. “I have a few things I can try, now that the pack is here for backup. I might be able to open a connection between my magic and the other mage's, maybe help figure out where they're hiding out.”

“Do you need anything from us?” Felicity asked, always the ambassador for her team.

Stiles shifted forward a little in his and Derek's chair. “Can you call Captain Lance?” At Felicity and Oliver's quizzical looks, he explained, “I need something from the last crime scene.”


	9. Should Have Been A Storm Warning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're still reading this story, you genuinely deserve all of my thanks and love. I know the wait between updates has been lengthy, and I truly appreciate your patience. Between all of the fics I have going right now and my real life, I don't get nearly as much time for each story as I would like.
> 
> Take this offering as a token of my undying love and affection!

“Are you sure about this?” Derek asked quietly, crouched down beside Stiles in the middle of Oliver's foyer floor.

The pack and Felicity's team lined the very edges of the room, leaning against walls and hovering in doorways. The pack was entirely at ease, every line of their bodies relaxed and calm. They were so accustomed to Stiles and his magic that it caused them absolutely zero distress to see it unfold before their eyes. Felicity's team, however, was much more wary. They watched with rapt attention while Stiles traced a set of runes on the floor with nothing but his fingertip, the shapes glowing gold before blinking out to nothingness, leaving their power behind. Stiles could almost feel the excited nervousness vibrating off of Oliver and Felicity's team, along with confusion and skepticism pouring out of the newest arrival; one Laurel Lance.

She'd been the one to deliver Stiles' requested object, a scrap of fabric found on the last body that contained a sizable amount of avian DNA, leading Stiles to believe that it had once been a part of the Harpy's garb. Laurel stood furthest away from Scott and the rest of the pack, arms crossed over her chest and eyes narrowed shrewdly. She was quiet after her initial round of questions – a side effect of being Starling City's District Attorney, Stiles guessed – had been answered, seemingly resigned to hovering on the furthest edge of the room with Oliver and Felicity acting as a barrier between herself and the Beacon Hills pack.

“Maybe we should do this back at the hotel.” Derek tried again, leaning in as close to Stiles as he could get without actively sitting in his lap, “You know, where there isn't a hostile audience waiting for something to blow up or whatever the hell it is they're waiting for.”

Stiles rolled his eyes as he removed the scrap of fabric from the evidence bag it had arrived in, holding it delicately in his cupped palms. “Der, babe, you gotta relax. This audience is hardly hostile, okay? They're just cautiously excited. Not everyone takes to magic and the supernatural as seamlessly as your incredibly sexy and intelligent Mate did.”

Derek snorted. “That's not exactly how I remember it.”

“You're old.” Stiles shrugged, a smirk tugging up one corner of his mouth. “Your memory is faulty and therefore cannot be trusted.”

“You're an idiot.” Derek chuckled affectionately as he stood, ready to give Stiles the room he needed to work. 

“Love you, too!” Stiles called after his retreating back, not taking his eyes off the burlap-like scrap of fabric in his palms.

Derek huffed an airy laugh as he reached the outside edge of the room and found a spot beside Felicity in which to wait. He propped himself against the wall, his shoulders pressed into the wall and his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans.

“You're not worried, are you?” Felicity whispered, her eyes fixed on Stiles even as his own eyes closed and he blocked out the room around him.

Derek shrugged one shoulder, his gaze flickering to Oliver and the rest of his team. “Not worried, no.” he denied. “Stiles is the most talented mage our world has seen in the last thousand years, maybe ever. He could do this level of magic in his sleep.”

“What is it then? You seem anxious.”

“Just a feeling.” Derek told her dismissively, meeting Scott's eyes across the room.

Felicity hummed to herself, leaning more firmly into Oliver's presence at her side. “If I've learned anything over the last few years,” she said, eyes watchful now, “it's to always trust your gut. If you're intuition tells you something is off, it probably is.”

Between one breath and the next the air around them shifted, going thick and charged. Derek didn't miss the way Laurel stood up a little straighter, her brow going furrowed as she dropped her arms to her sides and seemed to go on the defensive. A wind that hadn't existed a moment before flooded into the room, swirling around Stiles like a cyclone but not disturbing so much as a hair on his head.

“What the hell is that?” Laurel breathed, eyes widening with shock as the gusting air around Stiles lit up in deep crimson sparks.

“Magic.” Felicity smiled reassuringly, reached out a hand and curled it around Laurel's forearm. “I tried to warn you.”

Laurel clicked her mouth closed, nodding absently in affirmation to Felicity's words. 

“Just wait,” Lydia tossed in quietly, leaning around Allison to grin sharply at Laurel, “it's only going to get weirder from here.”

No sooner had the words left her lips than the current of air in the foyer shifted again, the temperature in the room spiking up only to plummet just as quickly. Stiles sat cross-legged in the middle of the open space, his lips pressed together in concentration. Slowly, his eyes opened and Derek heard a collective gasp from Felicity's team.

Stiles' eyes were glazed over in a hue of blue so bright it was almost silver-white, his expression perfectly placid. When he spoke a moment later, his voice was rich with power, deep and almost echoing over itself, his lips barely appearing to move.

“Our Harpy is sticking to some traditions, at least.” he boomed, each word vibrating through bodies, reverberating through bone. “Looks like she's built a nest somewhere along the coast. Maybe gouged into the rock face.”

“Is the other mage there?” Derek asked, watching Stiles with unwavering focus. 

Stiles shook his head, his fingertips dancing where they lay on his knees. “No, this space is hers, just hers. Harpies are territorial, she wouldn't want him- huh.”

“What?” Scott questioned. “What's wrong, Stiles?”

Derek could see the way Scott strained to hold himself in place, to anchor himself against the wall and keep himself from reaching for his brother. It was an urge Derek himself often fought against, one he had long ago learned would do more harm than good when Stiles was in the middle of a casting.

“She hasn't been here in a while. Weeks, months maybe.” Stiles rumbled, more to himself than in answer to Scott's question. “Her scent, her signature is old. Hold on, let me...”

“Be careful, Stiles.” Derek growled, the hum of anxiety in his chest growing that much stronger. 

Something was wrong, he could feel it. He just couldn't figure out what. His gums itched, fangs pushing steadily beneath them much the same as his claws did in his fingertips. Derek's instincts were telling him to protect, to put himself between his pack, his mate, and whatever threat was coming, but when that threat was unseen, caught in the whirlwind of magical energy surrounding Stiles, Derek didn't have much choice but to stay put and wait.

Stiles remained silent, all of his concentration focused on whatever task he was attempting. Derek waited, breath bated and burning his lungs. He growled again, could feel his eyes glowing Alpha Red in response to the things he couldn't see, couldn't protect Stiles from.

“Derek?” 

Felicity's gentle voice cut through some of the ringing in his ears, made him refocus. He turned his attention toward her, drawing his eyes away from Stiles just long enough to flick them in her direction. He heard the soft, awed gasp puff through her lips when she caught sight of his eyes. There was no way to be sure if she'd noticed yet that the rest of the pack's own eyes would be illuminated too, an ingrained instinct to their Alpha's unease, but he thought she'd be even more awed by that than one single set of glowing orbs.

Derek opened his mouth to try to reassure her, to tell her that everything was under control and he was just an overprotective Mate, but he found himself shuddering as the air around them rippled. His gaze swung back to Stiles, whose suddenly pale skin gleamed with a thin sheen of sweat. Derek took a hesitant step forward.

“Stop.” Stiles ordered, voice shaking with power. 

“Talk to me, Stiles.” Derek urged, inching forward despite the warning. “What do you see?”

“There's a room.” he told him, the words coming out tight through a strained throat. “A basement, maybe, or an old walk-in. It's cold and dark, no windows or anything, so definitely underground.”

“Good.” Derek praised, trying to keep Stiles tethered and focused on him. “What else?”

Stiles breathed deep, the breath quivering through him. The storm around him kicked up, crimson sparks glowing, igniting the wind. Derek could taste the ozone crackling in the air, the familiar bite of magic growing thicker with each step he took.

“There are-” Stiles whined low in his chest, a sound that tore at Derek's heart and made his fangs drop. “There are chains in the wall.”

A distressed whine carried through the pack, no doubt a response to the emotions coming off Stiles and Derek in waves.

“Can you see the Harpy?” Derek asked, an attempt to shift Stiles' focus again while he took another few steps. “Is she there, or has she been there recently?”

“Recently.” Stiles answered, voice heavy and tear soaked. Derek could see the tears brimming in his eyes without falling, could feel the anger and sympathy Stiles radiated like a furnace. “She's... It's not her, Der, it's not her fault.”

“Okay.” Derek agreed immediately, now only a handful of feet from Stiles' side. “The mage, then. Focus on him.”

Sweat rolled down Stiles' brow, his skin far too pale for Derek's comfort. “I- I can't. He's blocking me somehow. I might be able-”

Stiles cut off in a gurgle, words dying in his throat as the wind around him whipped itself into a frenzy.

“Stiles!” 

Derek surged forward, feet carrying him without thought. He was met with a solid wall of electrified air, energy shooting from his fingertips into his chest and throwing him back. He landed hard on his tailbone, skidded across the floor to stop at Felicity and Oliver's feet.

Before he could his feet back under him Stiles screamed, the sound torn from the deep recesses of his chest. The pack whimpered, Scott and Derek roared their way into a partial shift, and the humans stared on in baffled fear. 

“What do we do?” 

It was Lydia who answered Felicity's panicked question, raising her voice to be heard over the roaring storm in the center of the room. “We wait.”

“Wait? But-”

“Shit.” Derek snarled through his fangs, the scent of blood – Stiles' blood – carrying densely on the air. “We have to pull him out now!”

“We can't.” Lydia was shaking her head, eyes wide but determined. “If we pull him out and he's not ready, we could kill him, Derek! You know how this works.”

Derek clenched his fists, jaw snapping and body vibrating with the urge to drop into a full shift. This was the one aspect of Stiles' magic Derek would never get used to – Feeling helpless, unable to lend his support to Stiles like Stiles would do for him. His strength on the other hand...

“We can't pull him out, but we can help him.” Derek ground out, his pulse pounding a chaotic beat in his eardrums as Stiles' pain carried through their bond. 

He saw the moment Lydia understood. 

“Anybody who isn't okay with being used as a magical generator, now would be the time to bail.” Lydia announced, eyes sweeping around the room.

“It will help Stiles?” Felicity asked, fingers intertwined with Oliver's, knuckles bloodless white as another scream rent the air and Derek's knees buckled with the pain.

“It will save Stiles.” Scott corrected, having caught on.

“Then I'm not going anywhere.” Felicity stood firm, eyes daring Oliver to dispute her on this.

“Whatever we can do.” Oliver nodded decisively, giving Lydia his attention.

“I-” Laurel's voice faltered, eyes huge and shining with fear.

Derek growled again, impatient to stop the pain slicing through him, the pain that didn't belong to him. Muffled screams and broken gasps carried on the wind, swirling around Stiles, not disturbing so much as a dust mote outside the energy barrier Stiles put in place. Lyla moved quickly, wrapping an arm around Laurel's waist and guiding her from the room.

“Okay.” Lydia took a deep breath, shook out her hands like she was shaking off water. “This might hurt a bit, so brace yourselves. Derek?”

Derek moved to the very edge of the storm undulating and pulsing around Stiles, got as close as he could without touching it. He could feel it pushing against him, trying to throw him off like it had before, but Derek planted his feet and sneered.

Lydia stood by Derek's side, took his hand in hers and mirrored his position. “Ready?” she asked, already lifting the hand not holding Derek's to hover it over the barrier. 

He nodded, closed his eyes and tugged on the pack bonds. He could feel it the moment the pack's energy changed direction, stopped flowing between them in varying currents and melted into one fluid channel. Derek felt the familiar bonds, the ones that had been built and cultivated from the very beginning, the bonds of his pack. He ignored the warm, golden bond that belonged to Stiles, focused on the rest. He was taken by surprise by the soft yellow bond that flowed from Stiles to Felicity, brand new but strong and silken. From Felicity's bond, Derek could draw on Oliver and Diggle's strength, as well as a bond he didn't recognize that connected Felicity and Jackson to a third point, a point he assumed was Roy.

Focusing all of his own energy on pulling the bonds inward, Derek soaked them in. Energy poured into him in powerful waves, hummed and swelled under his skin until he felt like an over-inflated balloon. 

“Now!” he shouted, squeezing the delicate hand in his until Lydia gasped and jerked into action. 

They both slammed their free hand through the barrier, pushed with all their might until they broke through and could feel magic pulsing against their skin. Derek shivered as the pack's combined energy flowed from his fingertips, made his skin tingle. 

The pain Stiles was feeling stopped almost immediately, and Derek nearly sagged in relief. He felt it the moment Stiles gained the upper hand against whatever force was fighting him. The storm around Stiles weakened, crimson sparks turning gold and flaring brighter. Stiles' voice rose over the flagging sound of the wind, a string of profanity tripping off his tongue, making Derek smile despite the panic he'd experienced being unable to help Stiles wage this battle.

A collective shudder ran through the pack and Oliver's team when Stiles pulled on the thread of their energy, wound it around himself and used it to bolster his power. Golden light engulfed him in the center of the dying storm, making Derek shield his eyes at its brightness. 

A heavy thud made him pry his lids open again. 

“Jesus.” Derek felt strangled by the single word, the only word he found himself capable of uttering in that moment.

Stiles lay unconscious in the same spot he'd been before the storm overtook him, his body limp and unmoving. Derek lept toward him, dragged Stiles into his lap and searched for a pulse while the room around him erupted in movement. 

“Is he-”

“He's alive.” Derek breathed, eyes stinging as they swept over Stiles' prone form. 

Stiles' skin was littered with scrapes and cuts, as though there'd been debris inside the whirlwind, like he'd been caught in the eye of a tornado rather than a storm of magic. He was pale and ashen, his bottom lip split and dribbling blood. 

Derek wanted to rip the world apart.

“What the fuck was that?” Oliver asked, approaching cautiously, Felicity half tucked behind him.

Derek growled before he could help it, stopped himself when he realized that Oliver and Felicity weren't a threat to Stiles.

“If I had to guess,” Lydia panted as she stumbled into Jackson's arms, her own cheeks lacking any trace of color, “I'd say that was our dark mage.”

 

*

 

Curled into a tight ball at Stiles' back, nose tucked beneath his tail, Derek pressed as close as he could to his sleeping Mate. It was easier to be close in his wolf form, gave Stiles a more consistent energy source to draw on. Every now and then Stiles would shift in his exhausted sleep and Derek would follow, unwilling and unable to leave Stiles without some form of contact. He didn't move often, not as drained as he was, but Derek stayed ready and alert, just in case.

He had listened while the rest of the pack settled into their designated sleep spots, appointed by Oliver and Felicity when Scott explained that moving Stiles was impossible, as was any of the pack leaving him. Their collective energy would help Stiles heal, Scott had explained. The connections were already there, it was no effort at all for Stiles to syphon what he needed from the pack in order to recuperate. Oliver hadn't seemed phased by hosting a werewolf pack in his home overnight, simply found space for all of them and told them to make themselves at home. Derek would thank him later, when Stiles wasn't hovering at the edges of magical and physical exhaustion.

The room Stiles and Derek were assigned was much larger than what they needed, nearly as big as the bedroom they shared back home, but it served its purpose. Stiles had been cleaned up, wounds disinfected while he remained limp and unresponsive, and then tucked in to sleep off the worst of it. Derek hadn't hesitated to strip down and shift, leaping gently up onto the soft mattress to settle at Stiles' back. He hadn't slept, couldn't until Stiles was awake, but he needed to be near, to feel Stiles' heartbeat, feel his breaths come in steady pulls.

A noise in the hallway caught Derek's attention, had him lifting silent, watchful eyes toward the door of their temporary bedroom. He recognized the leather and citrus sent, laid his muzzle back on his paws and watched the door creak open after a brief knock.

Oliver poked his head inside, his face shadowed and tired in the dim light from the lamp on the far side of the room. “Do you guys need anything?” he asked quietly, leaving the door open just a crack as he stepped inside. 

Derek blinked, gave a subtle shake of his massive head.

Mouth twitching at the corners, Oliver nodded. “Alright.”

There was more he wanted to say, Derek could tell, but he waited patiently for Oliver to figure out how to start. Derek kept his head on his paws, watched Oliver scrub a hand over his face and scratch at his stubbled jaw. His heart rate was too level, too controlled for Derek to get any information from it, but his scent was another story. Oliver smelled of worry and confusion, the bitter edge of anxiety a familiar scent to Derek's nose. He yipped softly, drawing Oliver's wandering thoughts back to the present.

“Right, sorry.” Oliver shook his head, mouth pulling down at the corners as he swept his gaze over Stiles. “I just... It's a lot to process, you know?”

Derek blinked again, hoping Stiles was right about his expressive eyebrows carrying over into his wolf form.

“A week ago, I had no idea that this kind of magic existed.” Oliver sighed, “Now, I've seen it with my own eyes, felt it, and yet I still can't seem to-” 

Derek waited, listening while Oliver tried to get his thoughts in order.

“What Stiles did out there,” Oliver started, paused like he was replaying it in his mind, “that kind of thing happens to you guys a lot?”

Derek nodded the affirmative, tucked himself a little closer to Stiles' back.

“How do you do it?” 

Tilting his head in confusion, Derek huffed. 

Oliver's mouth tugged up on one side before it dropped back into a frown. “He's your- your husband, right? For all intents and purposes, Stiles is... He's yours.” Derek snuffled his agreement, his tail wagging to spite him. Oliver chuckled. “How do you watch him risk his life like that and not completely lose it? He could have died out there, has come close a whole hell of a lot if your pack isn't blowing smoke. I can't imagine watching Fel-” 

Derek's ears perked up and he knew one brow had quirked, too.

Oliver growled under his breath, a frustrated sound. “Does it ever get any easier, being in love with someone who is hellbent on risking their lives for a cause they should have no part of?”

With a yip, Derek rose from the bed and lept down onto the floor beside it, on the opposite side from where Oliver stood. When he straighted up, he was buckling jeans around human hips and shaking off the last of the change. 

Oliver's eyes widened a fraction. “Yeah, see, that is something I know I'll never get used to.” he laughed.

“You'd be surprised what you can grow to accept.” Derek rumbled softly, sitting beside Stiles on the bed and wrapping his hand up with his own. A beat passed in silence before Derek turned his attention back to Oliver. “Is that why you don't tell her? You're afraid to tell her just to watch her die?”

Oliver startled at that, like he hadn't expected Derek to call him on it. 

“She and Stiles have a lot in common.” Derek smirked, his thumb rubbing ceaseless circles on the back of Stiles' hand. “They're both stubborn and independent, fiercely loyal and protective. When they love, they do it with everything they have, and it never, ever wavers. I really shouldn't have been surprised how quickly they bonded, not with how alike they are.” He met Oliver's eye. “But, do you know the one thing about them that's different?”

After a moments hesitation, Oliver nodded.

“Felicity has the patience of a saint.” Derek laughed quietly. “Stiles is the most infuriatingly impatient person I have ever known. He has no idea how to wait for things, how to bide his time or wait and see how things play out. He wants what he wants, when he wants it, and heaven help anyone who gets in his way. It's his most annoyingly endearing trait.”

“I'm not sure I follow.” Oliver admitted, watching Derek warily. 

Derek reached out to push a stray lock of hair away from Stiles' forehead, trailed his fingertips down the angle of Stiles' jaw. “When Stiles and I met, neither of us knew what to do with the other. I made him angry but he couldn't stay away from me, even when he thought he hated me. He drove me crazy, you know? He was sarcastic and mouthy, never did as he was told and was always risking his life for me, for my pack. Even when Scott wanted nothing to do with us, Stiles was always there. We couldn't be in the same room without fighting, snapping at each other, and still, we couldn't stay away from each other. We always ended up thrown together, saving one another when we needed it the most.”

“Well, you obviously don't hate each other anymore.” Oliver pointed out, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.

“I don't think we ever did.” Derek shrugged, turning his gaze back to Oliver. “At least, not truly. I think we hated what we brought out in each other, what we stirred up, but there was always more to it than what sat on the surface. If we really hated each other, we never would have risked our lives to save each other all the time. The thing is, if Stiles hadn't been impatient and demanding and all the things that drove me crazy in the beginning, we never would have gotten this far.”

Oliver's brow lifted in surprise. “Are you- He said it first?” 

“He was pushy as hell about it, too.” Derek's amusement rumbled in his chest. “I wasn't in a place where having feelings for someone was an option I thought I could allow myself. My past is littered with the ghosts of people I loved and ruined, was ruined by, and I couldn't let that happen to Stiles. So, I fought it. I did everything I could think of to keep him at arms length. I dated other people, I left town, I fought with Scott; anything I could think of to make Stiles forget why he cared about me at all.”

“That seems to have worked out well.”

Derek snorted. “Like I said, Stiles is stubborn. He called me on my bullshit, pushed and poked and forced himself into every crack and crevice until I couldn't imagine living without him. He made me realize that my past didn't have to be our future, that I deserved better than that... That I deserved him.”

“It doesn't scare you, him always being in danger?” Oliver asked, voice low and catching in his throat. 

“Terrifies me.” Derek admitted. 

Oliver's shoulders sagged. “Then how can you justify having him in your life?”

“Because I can't live a life without him in it.” Derek told him, point blank. “Look, Oliver, I know that loving someone who would lay their life down for yours is paralyzing. It's the scariest thing I have ever done, letting myself admit that I loved him, to tell him that I probably always had. But it's also the best decision I have ever made.”

“And when he gets hurt, maybe killed?” Oliver challenged.

Derek took a deep breath, fought down the snarl building in his throat. “I'll be there.” he growled. “I would rather he get hurt with me right beside him, knowing that I've got his back, than have him rush headfirst into a battle alone. Because, trust me, Oliver, they will. Even if we push them away, put up walls to keep them out of this life, Stiles and Felicity will still be there, fighting. It's who they are. So ask yourself – Would you rather fight beside her, or be nowhere in sight when she finds herself on the losing end of a battle?”

A knock on the door startled them both, so engrossed had they been in their conversation. Felicity stuck her head through the doorway, a soft smile on her lips.

“Hey, sorry, I just wanted to check in on him.” Felicity tipped her head at the lump beneath the covers that was Stiles. 

“He's getting there.” Derek told her, trying to smile reassuringly. “Should be alright by morning.”

“Do you need anything? Something to eat, or a Gatorade or something?” she offered.

Derek chuckled. “No, I'm okay. Thank you, though. Both of you.”

Oliver nodded, his eyes a little glazed over, like he was struggling to untangle the information Derek had dropped on him.

“Of course.” Felicity smiled warmly, tapped her fingernails softly on the door. “If you need anything, just let me know.”

Oliver followed Felicity out of the room on autopilot, gazing unseeingly toward the floor. He stopped when he reached the doorway, looked back at where Derek sat vigil by Stiles' side. 

“Goodnight, Derek.” he called back quietly, softness in the lines of his face. “And thank you.”

Derek dipped his chin in acknowledgment, trying not to smile at the hopeful scent lingering in the room when Oliver closed the door behind him.


	10. For - Not Of

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, 
> 
> I'm really sorry that this fic has taken so long to update. Real life got real recently, and I haven't been much use when it comes to writing or keeping up with my tumblr. Hopefully things will even out soon and the wait between chapters won't be quite so long.
> 
> If you're still reading - Thank you. For your patience and your support, both.

The pack had mostly settled down by the time Felicity made her way back toward the living room, thoughts of the afternoon's events swirling around in her mind. John and Lyla left almost as soon as Scott assured them that Stiles was resting comfortably and would be back to normal by morning, a dazed Laurel accompanying them on the elevator ride down.

When Felicity rounded the corner into the living room, she couldn't help but smile. Scott and Isaac were curled together on the floor, limbs entwined and wrapped up in a nest of blankets. Scott was still awake, staring at the ceiling while his fingers tunneled through Isaac's golden curls, the occasional contented snuffle coming from Isaac's sleeping form where his face was squished into Scott's chest. Erica and Boyd were sleeping as well, cuddled into one another on a couch on the opposite side of the room. 

Felicity felt something in her chest loosen at the sight of all of them. Seeing the pack so at ease in Oliver's space, letting their guard down enough to fall asleep, was something she thought was probably rare, something that meant more than just the pack being exhausted. She remembered how tense Derek and Isaac had been that first night in the Foundry, how Derek had practically vibrated with uncomfortable energy. Now, none of the pack showed even the slightest indication that they were unsettled in Oliver's space. They were all completely relaxed and at varying degrees of rest.

Lydia, Allison, and Jackson were the only ones other than Scott who were still awake, talking quietly in a loose huddle beside the fireplace. Picking her way silently across the room, Felicity smiled hesitantly when Allison turned and caught her eye. 

“Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt.” she apologized quietly, careful to keep her voice low as to not wake the slumbering wolves. 

“Don't be silly,” Allison waved a hand dismissively. “We were just reminiscing a bit.”

Lydia nodded, a sweet smile playing on her lips. “You're more than welcome to join us.” she offered, scooting sideways to make room between she and Allison, mostly putting herself in the cradle of Jackson's lap.

Felicity sank to the floor, tucking her feet beneath her thighs. She took a deep breath, hoping it would calm the nerves still prickling uncomfortably beneath her skin. 

“How is he?” Allison asked, tilting her head toward the bedroom Stiles and Derek were currently occupying. 

“Okay, I guess.” Felicity shrugged, thinking of how pale, how depleted Stiles had looked even in the dim light of the bedroom. “Derek said he was, at least. He just... looked like he was sleeping?”

“That's pretty much exactly what he's doing.” Lydia agreed. “It's a restorative sleep, like recharging a battery.”

“He's drawing on the pack's collective energy to restore some of what he expelled during the...”

“Smackdown?” Jackson supplied, grinning. 

Allison rolled her eyes fondly. “Sure, why not – The smackdown.”

Biting her lip, unsure of what she was allowed to ask or how much information she was allowed to dig for, Felicity wrung her fingers together in her lap and tried to push down the inquisition she could feel pushing at her throat.

“What is it?” Lydia asked, genuine concern in her voice and a tiny line creasing her otherwise smooth brows.

“It's nothing.” Felicity assured, though her voice lacked any real conviction. She sighed, chewed her bottom lip with more vigor. “I just- Is it always like that?”

Allison gave a sympathetic wince. “Sometimes.” she admitted. “It depends, really. We've seen worse.”

Eyes widening incredulously, Felicity sucked in a sharp breath. “It gets worse than that?” she balked, trying to imagine what could possibly be worse than what they'd seen play out that afternoon. “That was terrifying!”

Jackson, arms wrapped loosely around Lydia's waist, hooked his chin in the dip of Lydia's shoulder and sighed. “Hazard of the job, unfortunately.” he told her softly. “Sometimes it's easy; just run of the mill stuff that we can handle without Stiles' magic. When it only takes one or two of us to deal with a threat, we deal with it. But sometimes...”

“Sometimes Stiles is the only thing standing between us and death.” Lydia stated bluntly when Jackson trailed off. She shook her head, a little sadly Felicity thought, but attempted a smile. “There are some things out there that not even an entire pack of werewolves can defeat – Not on their own, at least. Even with a Banshee and a pair of hunters on their side, the wolves aren't always enough. Those are the times that Stiles is the most terrifying. Not just the things he can do, the sheer _power_ he can harness, but Stiles himself.”

Felicity shivered, an image forming in her mind that she didn't want to think too much about. She didn't want to be afraid of Stiles, not when she felt an instant connection to him, this instantaneous friendship that they'd found.

“Have there been a lot of those times?” she asked, trying to distract herself.

“A few.” Scott chimed in, making Felicity jump. She swiveled around in place, looking over her shoulder to where Scott was carefully disentangling himself from Isaac's embrace. He pulled a t-shirt on as he crossed the room toward them, pushing a hand through his hair as he settled down at Allison's side. “He's my bro, and I would give my life for him, but even I can admit that there's been at least one time that I felt genuine fear _of_ him, instead of _for_ him.”

Swallowing thickly, refusing to acknowledge the wave of sudden, tingling unease that crawled across the back of her neck, she opened her mouth to ask another question, only to stutter to a stop when the air around them shifted. Felicity knew the moment she felt it that Oliver had stepped into the room. 

Some of the tension in her shoulders drained away when she felt him draw closer, could hear his familiar footfalls on the hardwood behind her. Having him nearby soothed the frayed edges of her nerves, the scattered feeling behind her sternum.

“When?” she asked, mostly in effort to ignore the warm flutter in her belly when Oliver didn't hesitate to sit down beside her, his knee bumping hers casually. “If I can ask, I mean. I know it's not really any of my business, but I-”

“The Mermaid Incident.” Jackson answered, cutting her babble short. Felicity was surprised to track a shudder running though him.

“Mermaid Incident?” Oliver questioned, one brow cocked skeptically. “There are mermaids now?”

Lydia laughed, a light sound that made Felicity's own mouth curl up at the corners. “There have always been mermaids. They predate humans by quite a lot, actually.”

“Vicious little fuckers.” Jackson said, a frown weighing down his lips.

“Are they really that bad?” Felicity asked, question aimed at the entire group. She had an image in her mind of Ariel and her sisters; pretty girls who just happened to be half fish. It was difficult for her to imagine mermaids being anything to fear.

“Not as a whole, no.” Scott shrugged, looping an arm around Allison's shoulders and tugging until she settled in against his side with a sigh. “They're like humans, kind of. Some are good, some are bad, and some live in shades of gray.”

“The one we crossed, or who thought we crossed her, was very firmly at the bad end of the spectrum.” Allison said, a slight scowl marring her features. 

“How did you cross her?” Oliver asked, expression broadcasting his intrigue. 

Scott's rueful smile was at odds with the tight set of Jackson's spine, and Felicity found her curiosity getting the better of her, pressing up beneath her skin like an itch. 

“I think she thought we trespassed in her territory.” Scott explained, his voice even, though his tone betrayed his discontent with the memory. “We were on vacation in New York, the summer after our freshman year of college. Stiles and Derek planned the whole thing, said it was mandatory pack bonding.”

“Erica tried to flirt her way out of it and Stiles cursed her, remember?” Jackson laughed, his back losing some of its rigidity. “She was allergic to leather for an entire week.”

A chorus of quiet laughter rippled through them, even Oliver's own dry chuckle joining in.

“Anyway, we spent two weeks in the Adirondack Park, camping out under the stars and shit.” Scott continued. “It was halfway through our trip, in a real secluded stretch of river. Stiles did all this research on the area, you know? Wanted to make sure we could shift without being seen and just... Enjoy ourselves. 

So, Isaac, Allison, Erica, Derek, Boyd and I were all in the water, splashing around and just generally being obnoxious, while Stiles and the others laid out on the shore. There was nobody around for miles – I mean nobody – so we got pretty loud. But, we were having fun for once, so... And then Isaac yelped, and everything went to Hell.”

“It's not a sound you ever get used to.” Allison said softly, eyes dark. “I thought, with all the shit we've been through, all the times we've been hurt, that sound wouldn't cut the same way. But it always slices right through your chest, you know?” she asked, rubbing her knuckles deliberately against her sternum. “It hits you right here and just _aches_.”

Felicity knew what Allison meant. She still heard echoes of her team's pained cries in the the dark, rattling around inside her skull at night when the silence reigned. 

Scott's arm tightened around Allison and he pressed a kiss into her hairline, soft and reassuring. “It was like dominoes after that, one right after the other.”

“The mermaid?” Felicity questioned, so enthralled by the story that she didn't notice she was clutching hard at Oliver's knee. 

Scott nodded. “She was trying to drown us, pulling us under. I don't remember much from being underwater, just quick glimpses of sharp teeth and blue skin. It felt like a lifetime, but it was really only a few seconds. I heard it, the moment she tried to take Derek. The mountains trembled around us, like an earthquake. I could feel it in my bones, the blackout rage that poured off Stiles in waves.”

“He was already so angry.” Lydia murmured, eyes distant, like she was seeing it in her mind. “Isaac went under and we all just thought they were horsing around. Erica and Boyd went down and Stiles' eyes went sharp, too bright and really, really intense. When Scott went under, Stiles was at the edge of the river in a heartbeat, practically vibrating. And then Derek's head disappeared beneath the surface, and Stiles lost it.”

“I've never been afraid of Stilinski,” Jackson shivered again, “but that – that was something else altogether. It was like he wasn't even Stiles anymore.”

“The magic and his rage, they melded together until they were sharing space inside him.” Lydia told them. “He was one big raw nerve, a sparking wire just looking for a conduit. I can remember the hollowness of his eyes, pure black in a face I didn't recognize. The air around us was so thick it was almost impossible to breathe, there was just so much energy in such a small area. All Stiles had to do was touch the line where water met sand and the earth cracked.”

“I woke up on the beach, along with the others, and Stiles' skin was still crackling with power.” Scott recalled, eyes meeting Felicity's across their little circle. His voice turned hollow, some dark, bottomless quality that made Felicity's heart stutter nervously. “To this day, I don't think he even really remembers it.”

“Saving you?” she asked, throat thick with emotions that didn't belong to her. 

Scott was already shaking his head, but it was Oliver who answered. “Killing her.” he intoned softly, his hand covering Felicity's where it clutched at his knee, curling his fingers around hers and squeezing.

Scott gave one sharp nod, mouth set in a hard line. “Stiles is a good man, Felicity, don't think that I'm telling you otherwise. He would never intentionally take a life if it could be avoided, and he would never hurt someone for no reason. He's my best friend and my brother, and I couldn't ask for more from either – But Stiles will tear the universe apart with his bare hands if it means protecting the people he loves, and he won't think twice about it.”

Silence settled over her like a shroud, wrapping Felicity in an embrace just a bit tighter than was comfortable. The end of Scott's story seemed to splinter the group, each of them breaking off into smaller side conversations. Scott and the others talked quietly around Felicity, but she didn't hear a word of it. She was consumed by her own thoughts, trying to reconcile what she'd seen of Stiles with what the pack told her. 

Her mind was whirring too rapidly for her to keep up, images of a the pack's story flashing through her mind in blurry sepia tones, fog rolling in along the edges. She was caught in a downward spiral, dropping fast. Exhaustion and confusion coalesced into something that felt more like shock than anything else, and Felicity couldn't find her way back to the surface. The tips of her fingers were numb, her feet losing feeling the longer she stayed cemented in place.

Oliver was the one to break through the riot inside her, his hand gripping hers tight, hard enough to make her blink.

“I think we should all take a page out of Stiles' book, and get some rest.” he suggested, though it sounded more like a command to her ears.

Felicity blew out the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, suddenly feeling years older than she had just a few hours before. Her bones ached in a way she was unfamiliar with, from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. Until Oliver said something, she didn't actually realize how tired she was, down to the very center of her being. She couldn't remember ever being as exhausted as she was then. 

Once Oliver had called attention to it though, it was all Felicity could do to keep her eyes open.

“Yeah, sleep sounds good.” Her words slurred a bit, her tongue feeling much too heavy behind her teeth.

Oliver's soft chuckle vibrated in her own chest, made her lids hang just a little heavier over her eyes. His voice sounded far away, distorted, but she couldn't stop listening to it. 

“Come on, Felicity, I'll help you.”

Before she could respond, she felt the world tilt around her, her stomach swooping down as her body rose, but she couldn't find the energy to protest. Instead, she gave up trying to resist and nuzzled into the warmth near her face, pressed her nose into the softness she found and stayed there.

There were voices around her, low rumblings and high tinkles of sound that she couldn't follow, but she didn't particularly care. She was warm and safe, and she could still smell Oliver's cologne, so that was good enough for her. 

Oliver would take care of her, of that she was sure, so she settled in to rest, breathed deep, drew his scent into her lungs until she felt dizzy and content. His heartbeat thumped beneath her ear; a strong, steady sound that filled her head and lulled her even further into sleep.

She was weightlessly drifting along the edge of consciousness when she felt herself sink into something plush; the surface giving beneath her, enveloping her in softness. It was comforting but cool against her skin, chilly enough to pull a whine of protest from her throat.

“Shh, I'm right here, you're okay.”

It was Oliver's voice shushing her, pouring over her like a balm. She settled into it, let it wash over her, seep into her skin and warm her from the inside out. Finding a shallow reserve of strength, Felicity found herself reaching out blindly, searching. Her fingers found something solid and curled around it, dragging it toward her.

“Go to sleep, Felicity.” His voice sounded as though it were coming through the filter of deep water, and the thought made her heart thud out a painful beat behind her ribs. “I'll be on the sofa if you need me, but you need to sleep now.”

She wanted to ask him to stay with her, to keep her safe from the fear crowding in around her, but she wasn't sure the words left the inside of her head. They weighed heavily on her tongue, in her throat, but she couldn't seem to force them out. A whimper pulled at her heartstrings, sounding pained and frightened. She tried to pry her eyes open, to see where the sound came from, but her lids stubbornly refused to cooperate. 

Something rough but gentle touched the side of her face, dragged along her cheek in long, calming strokes until she gave up fighting her lids and sank further in against the clouds at her back.

“Hey, hey, I'll be right here. I'm not leaving you, okay? Just sleep.”

The last thing Felicity felt before she succumbed to the darkness pulling at her mind was the clouds shifting around her and the wall of heat settling in along her back, wrapping her up in curling tendrils of safety. 

It was hours before Oliver followed her down, but he couldn't help thinking that there were few better ways to spend sleepless moments than listening to the deep, even breaths of the woman you love while she slept peacefully in your arms. 

 

*

 

Waking up felt like trying to dig her way out of quicksand. By the time she managed it, Felicity was ninety percent sure she was sleeping in a sauna. Her skin was damp and every breath felt like it came through a wall of flames. 

It took her a moment to realize that the weight resting over her wasn't imaginary or conjured by her mind, but instead took the shape of half of one extremely well-built body half draped over her, arm around her waist and a leg thrown over both of her own. The night before came back in a flood of memories and Felicity nearly choked on her tongue.

Oliver. The weight pressed against her, sprawled possessively over her and pushing her into the mattress was Oliver. 

Blinking her eyes open in a swell of panic, she was greeted by the solid wall of Oliver's chest, still wearing the black t-shirt he'd been wearing the night before. She fought to tamp down on the bubble of hysterical laughter in her chest, realized she was twisting the fabric of Oliver's sweatpants in her fingers and squeaked in surprise.

“Do you always wake up freaking out, or is it just me?” 

Felicity clenched her eyes shut, pressing her forehead up against Oliver's clavicle so that he couldn't see her face. “Can I plead the fifth?” She ignored his small huff of laughter and tried not to focus on the way his arm tightened around her waist. “I'm gonna plead the fifth and pray to every deity known to man that I'm dreaming again.”  
“You dream of me often?” Oliver's tone was teasing but it made heat pool low in Felicity's belly and a flush creep up her throat.

“Shut up.” she scolded, more sting in her cheeks than in her words.

Oliver sighed, his breath ruffling her hair and his skin brushing hers as he shifted onto his side on the bed next to her, preparing to move away. “I'm sorry, Felicity, I shouldn't-”

“Shut up, Oliver.” she repeated as she gripped his t-shirt and pulled herself against his chest, pushing her face into the slope of his neck and snuggling closer. “Just... Let's stay here for a while, okay? We can not talk about it, later.” she muttered, words muffled by his skin.

Oliver was quiet for a moment, his thumb rubbing concentric circles in the small of her back. “What if I want to talk about it?” he asked, small and quiet. 

Vulnerable.

Felicity's heart kicked up into her throat, something like reluctant hope blossoming in her chest. She shifted in his arms, splayed one tiny palm over his chest and tried not to let herself drown in it. The way she figured it, she had two choices here – She could let them follow the beaten path, settle into familiar patterns and ignore the fact that they woke up wrapped around one another like a pair of friendly octopuses, or she could break the mold and stop allowing them to hide from what was slowly growing more and more abundantly clear the longer they tried to avoid it.

If ever there was a time to be brave...

“Then we'll talk.” she whispered, eyes closed tight and blood rushing through her ears. “Later, though.”

Oliver pulled their bodies flush together, let Felicity notch her thigh between both of his and closed his eyes. 

“Later.” 

 

*

 

It was nearly noon by the time Stiles managed to haul himself free of the sea of blankets Derek had managed to cocoon him in. He stumble out of bed, his hair in wild disarray and his too pale cheeks creased with lines from his pillow. He felt a bit like he'd lost a fight with an army tank, but it was hardly the first time, so he forced himself out of bed. 

Once he'd managed to fight his way into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, he shuffled his way into Oliver's kitchen, yawning wide and scratching at his belly as he crossed the threshold. Derek, Oliver, Scott and Felicity were the only ones there, seated around the island while Felicity shuffled around at the stove.

Derek, of course, was at Stiles' side in the blink of an eye, a mug of steaming coffee held out toward him. “Drink this.” he ordered gently, laying his free hand over the pulse point in Stiles' throat. “Food will be done soon.”

“Food?” Stiles asked hopefully over the lip of his mug. 

Derek's smile was relieved, edged with the familiar adoration that made Stiles' heart trip, even after all these years. 

“Felicity's making bacon and eggs.” Scott called from his seat beside the empty one Derek had just vacated.

Stiles' stomach rumbled, loud enough for even Felicity and Oliver's human ears to hear. He didn't bother with embarrassment, just carried his coffee across the room as he made his way to a stool beside Oliver. 

“How are you feeling?” Felicity asked as Stiles sat, eyes wary but sincere as she flipped bacon on a baking sheet and stuck the pan back into oven. She didn't look quite at him, instead keeping her attention focused on what her hands were doing.

Stiles frowned, feeling an unfamiliar hesitancy coming from her. “Better.” he answered distractedly, Derek's hand in the small of his back making him feel steadier on his stool. Stiles' brows furrowed as he watched Felicity move around the kitchen, almost as though she were purposefully trying to avoid his gaze. “Starving, but much better.”

All of his cuts and scrapes had healed during the night, Derek's steady presence a constant source of energy from which Stiles could draw. There was still the hollow, barren feeling deep inside him, the place where his magic dwelled when at rest. He hadn't managed to rebuild his energy reserves yet and his magic was weak for it, but his body felt rested and restored.

“Where's the pack?” Stiles asked after a generous gulp of coffee.

“They went to the hotel to grab showers and change.” Derek informed him, pulling his gaze from Felicity. Stiles opened his mouth, but Derek preempted his question. “Lydia already has the amulet.”

“You think we'll need it?” Scott asked, Oliver and Felicity both frowning in confusion.

Stiles shrugged one shoulder, dragged his nails along the line of stubble dusting his jaw. “Couldn't hurt our odds.” 

“Amulet?” Oliver queried, arms crossed over his chest, hip propped against the edge of the counter. 

“Yeah, it was my mom's.” Stiles answered, pausing to sip from his mug. “It helps focus my power, like... You know how light refracts through a prism and it scatters? It's sort of like that, just in reverse. Instead of dispersing the energy, it concentrates it.”

“Sounds like something you'd be better off keeping on you.” Felicity interjected, the sharpness of her tone making Stiles frown.

He cast a sideways look at Derek, who could only frown back and shrug. “It's only a temporary boost, and the crash isn't worth it.” Stiles explained cautiously. “Magic has limits, boundaries that can be blurred or pushed to breaking, but there's always a trade off. The amulet gives me the edge I need when shit gets real, but I pay for it in spades.”

The color in Felicity's cheeks drained away, guilt flooding her eyes. “I didn't-”

“I know.” Stiles assured her easily, leaning across the counter to catch her hand in his. He tightened his grip around her fingers until she looked up, eyes brimming with moisture. “Hey, it's okay, Felicity. I'm fine.” he promised, sincerity ringing through each word. 

Felicity glanced up at him through the damp fan of her lashes, hesitant again. Her mouth was set in a tight line, her expression giving away how worried she was. She wrung a dishtowel in her hands while Oliver stood nearby, watching her but keeping his distance. 

“You scared me yesterday, Stiles.” she whispered finally.

The admission hit Stiles like a two-by-four to the chest. He sucked in a breath, let the warmth of Derek's hand at the nape of his neck ground him. 

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.” he apologized, hating the idea of her being afraid of him. “I would never hurt you though, Felicity, you have to know that.”

Her frown deepened and she swiped at the trail of wetness on her cheeks. “Of course I know that!” she snapped, making both Stiles and Oliver startle. “I wasn't afraid of you, Stiles, I was afraid of what was happening to you. I was afraid that I was sitting there, doing nothing, while the other mage murdered you right in front of me!”

Stiles opened his mouth, unsure what he was going to say to that, but she bulldozed right over him.

“I had no idea what to expect when you... did what you did.” she sighed, pushing a plate across the counter toward him. She pointed at the sliced apple and buttered toast. “Eat.” Stiles obeyed immediately. “Look, Stiles, I know better than anyone that having the capacity to end a life doesn't mean that you enjoy it, or that you run around killing people all willy-nilly. Your power is an amazing, wonderful gift, and watching you use it to protect people...”

Her eyes skipped sideways, landing on Oliver, and her mouth curled at the corners. Stiles couldn't stop himself from smiling over at Derek before returning his attention to Felicity.

“I'm not afraid of you or your magic.” she repeated. “I'm afraid of losing someone else that I care about.”

“I know this may be hard to understand, or to wrap your head around, but yesterday isn't even on the list of the worst things I've been through.” Stiles told her seriously. “Trust me, Felicity, okay? If I didn't think I could handle this, handle the mage, I wouldn't risk it. I would never put my pack or your team in jeopardy.”

“I couldn't help but notice that you left your self off that list.” Oliver pointed out, not at all surprised to hear the low growl rumble in Derek's chest. 

Stiles sighed heavily, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I can handle the mage.” he repeated. “With my mother's amulet, it's practically a cake walk.”

Felicity narrowed her eyes suspiciously, arms planted firmly on her hips as she stared him down across the island. “I'm going to hold you to that.”

Summoning the energy to smile back at her, Stiles lifted a slice of apple to his mouth and prayed he hadn't just flat out lied to all of them.


	11. Doppelgängers and a Harpy's Nest

Jackson leaned with his shoulders against the chilly glass storefront window, legs crossed loosely at the ankles and hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his peacoat. Though his ears were trained on the two women inside the store behind him, his thoughts drifted in the direction of his left jeans pocket. His phone weighed heavily against his backside, a continuous reminder that the damn thing had yet to ring.

Oliver probably hadn’t even had a chance to speak with Roy yet, Jackson chastised himself silently. It may have felt like days since the pack arrived in Starling City but, in reality, only about a day had passed. Still, Jackson felt tense—poised and waiting, strung tighter than the jeans Stiles favored when trying to sway Derek’s opinion on something. The half-cocked anticipation thrummed through Jackson in pulses, vibrating just beneath his skin, making his fingers twitch toward his phone if he even imagined he felt it hum. 

“What are you doing?”

Jackson jolted, jerking away from the window to stand upright. “Sorry,” he muttered, shaking his head to clear it as he looked up into soft hazel-gray eyes. “I’m just waiting for my girlfriend.” 

One of the brows perched above those eyes shot up, arching high in questioning surprise. “Excuse me?” the girl scoffed, short brown hair swinging around her jawline when she propped clenched fists at her hips. 

Jackson cocked his own brow at her, sassy and sarcastic. “My girlfriend is inside getting coffee,” he told her, enunciating each word with exaggerated patience. “I’m waiting here because chain coffee joints give me hives.”

The brunette’s brows knotted together, her entire expression perplexed. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Is there a problem here?”

Jackson’s smile turned sharp at the edges. Lydia stepped onto the sidewalk, every inch of her tiny frame alert and watchful, poised to strike with deadly precision should the opportunity present itself. Allison stood beside Lydia, amusement sparkling in her eyes at the possessive tone ringing in Lydia’s words.

The strange brunette’s eyes flashed a warning, but she didn’t react beyond saying, “Haven’t figured that out yet.”

Allison grasped Lydia by the wrist, her deceptively warm smile dimpling her cheeks. “Is there something we can do to help?” she asked sweetly.

Jackson wondered if the brunette could hear the cold steel edge of a blade beneath the question.

“Yeah,” the stranger said, thrusting a thumb over her shoulder at Jackson. “You can tell me what’s with the doppelgänger.”

Lydia frowned for a beat. Her eyes cleared after a moment, entire face lighting up with understanding. She stepped forward, shifting the coffee carrier at her hip so she could extend a hand.

“You must be Thea.”

The girl, Thea apparently, narrowed cautious eyes at the hand, letting them skirt up and across Lydia’s face. “What makes you say that?” 

Lydia gracefully pulled her hand back, tucking it into the pocket of her jacket while smiling smugly. “His name is Jackson,” she explained. “And I assume your brother has already spoken to you about why we’re here.”

Thea’s gaze flickered over Jackson then, as if searching out some small detail, anything about him that was different than what she expected to see. After a moment she crossed her arms over her chest and turned back to Lydia and Allison. She looked between them, taking note of the tower of coffee precariously suspended between them. 

“You taking that back to Ollie’s?” 

Lydia nodded. “The rest of our pack is expecting us.”

Thea sighed and shoved a hand through her hair. “Alright,” she stepped forward, taking some of the load off of them. “Let’s go.”

“That’s it?” Jackson asked, taking the two trays Allison held out to him. “That’s all you’re going to say?”

Thea glanced back at him over her shoulder. “Forgive me if I need a few minutes to adjust. Looking at Roy but hearing your voice is more of a trip than any of the drugs I did in high school.”

 

*

 

Three servings of Felicity’s breakfast and one long, hot shower later, Stiles felt marginally human again. His magic was still weak, but he was pleased to feel it spark along his skin in steady streams when he tested it. 

“Do you think Oliver will give us the name of his decorator?” Stiles called out, raising his voice so Derek could hear him over the rush of water pouring down over his head. 

Derek chuckled, blinking water out of eyes when he met Stiles’ gaze over the hip-height stone wall of the shower stall. “We just redid the bathrooms at home.” he countered.

“Yes,” Stiles agreed as he hopped up to perch on the edge of the vanity counter. “However, our bathrooms at home look straight out of Little House on the Prairie compared to this amazing temple of the bathroom gods.”

Stepping out of the shower, Derek shook his hair out, splattering a squawking Stiles with fat droplets of quickly cooling water. “No, Stiles,” he laughed, beaming in response to the glare aimed his way. “They’re fine the way they are.”

“Why do you stay with me if you hate me so much, Derek?” 

He rolled his eyes fondly. “Because you’re a giant pain in the ass, but the sex is phenomenal.”

Stiles grinned. He reached out to snag Derek by the waist of his towel with one hooked finger and pulled him into the V of his thighs. 

“I think that sentence may have been a little redundant, babe.” Stiles mused, tracing the line of hair that dusted down the middle of Derek’s chest, following it down the bumps of his abs and to the place where Stiles’ finger rested between cotton and skin. 

“Shut up, Stiles.” 

Derek, ever the opportunist, took advantage of the second Stiles used to draw in a breath and sealed their mouths together. Stiles immediately pushed into the kiss, seeking more contact and less air. A knock at the door had them separating slowly, Derek growling under his breath while Stiles extended his senses to see who was there. 

“It’s Isaac,” he announced, displeased to find himself tired after magic so simple. “The others must be back.”

Reluctantly, Derek stepped back to let Stiles slide down off the counter. “Later,” he promised darkly, nipping at the pulse point in Stiles’ throat as he passed.

 

*

 

The gym Oliver set up for them to use at home took up most of the top floor of their building. Roy used it more often than anyone except Oliver, and could be found channeling aggression and rage into grueling workouts with predictable regularity within its walls. 

That’s exactly where he was when Thea found him. Sweat poured down his body in rivulets and his muscles ached nearly down to the bone, but he couldn’t seem to put out the fire scorching his chest. Thea didn’t say anything as she crossed the room. She settled onto a balance ball without a word, face completely peaceful while she waited him out.

“You saw him.”

Thea nodded. Roy didn’t slow down, he simply ran harder. 

“And?”

She smiled, something small and soft and his. “It was a little creepy,” she admitted. “Like looking at you without you looking back. He seems like a decent guy, though.”

Roy’s feet pounded the treadmill’s belt. 

“I thought he was you.” Roy’s head snapped up and Thea frowned apologetically. “Just for a minute,” she assured. “But that’s how much you two look alike.”

“We’re not the same,” Roy snapped through panting breaths. 

Thea’s smile was tinged with sadness. “How do you know?” she asked, voice gentle but firm. “He’s already half of you, Roy. Don’t you want to know that half?”

 

* 

 

Chilly coastal air whipped Felicity’s hair into a frenzy around her head as she picked her way over jagged rocks and loose sand. With a hand to her forehead to shield her eyes from the sun shining blindingly off the surf, Felicity scanned the beach. The pack was scattered along the water’s edge, gazes sweeping the surrounding cliffs in search of the Harpy’s hideaway. Stiles was sure it was there somewhere, tucked high up in the rocky terrain, away from prying eyes and stray beach-goers.

“Maybe we’re in the wrong spot.” Scott suggested. The way he said it sounded like he already knew Stiles was, as always, one hundred percent correct about their location, he just had to throw it out as an option anyway. 

Derek was already shaking his head when he answered, “No, this is definitely the right place. Can’t you guys feel that?” 

Felicity watched his eyes flicker back and forth between moss and crimson, his top lip curled back in distaste. “What do you feel?” she asked.

He seemed to struggle for a moment, unable to find the words. Stiles spoke for him. 

“It’s the energy left over from the mage’s attack.” he informed them, voice soft and eyes unseeing as he stared into the distance. “She didn’t want to go with him. She fought him for as long as she could, but his power was much, much greater than hers.”

“You’re saying the Harpy was kidnapped? Forced by this… Mage, to murder innocent people?” Oliver questioned, eyes narrowing in anger.

Stiles hummed in confirmation. “I don’t even know how he found her, though. It’s not like she flew around town announcing herself, and her nest is obviously well hidden.”

The group split up into smaller search parties, widening their net. Scott, Allison, and Erica headed further up the beach while Boyd, Jackson, Lydia, and Isaac made their way along the base of a particularly rugged looking cliff. Felicity followed the path Stiles carved along the steep face of the bluffs, grateful for the solid support of Oliver’s hand on her hip as they climbed. 

“Anything?” Derek called from the back of their procession.

Stiles threw a glance over his shoulder. “Put it this way, if we’re looking for sand and/or vicious little crabs with snappy claws, we can totally call it a da—”

“Stiles!” 

Felicity’s squeak was swallowed up by the roar Derek let out. She flinched back from the intensity of it and collided with Oliver’s chest. His arms wrapped around her ribs and hauled her back, away from the gaping hole that opened in the earth beneath their feet, where Stiles had disappeared and Derek was following close behind.

“I’m okay!” Felicity sagged in relief when she heard Stiles’ reassurance echo up from the dark. “I also may have found our Harpy nest.”

Oliver edged forward and looked into the darkness. “Is it accessible from any other direction?” 

“Uh,” Stiles thought aloud, only for Derek to speak over him. “There’s a tunnel that leads to the western face of this cliff. I can smell the ocean air coming in from that direction, so there has to be an opening of some kind.”

“Honestly though, you could probably just climb down.” Stiles added. “There are footholds all the way down. You know, if you prefer that over free-falling.”

 

*

 

By the time everyone joined Stiles and Derek inside, Stiles managed to conjure the glowing ball of blue flame Felicity remembered him showing her in her apartment. He must have caught her smile with the memory because he grinned at her, sheepish.

“It’s the best I can do at the moment.” It sounded like an apology, one Felicity would have scoffed at if the guy didn’t already look he’d reached his limit for the day.

Felicity shrugged. “Still hella impressed.”

He rolled his eyes but laughed, gesturing at everyone else already investigating around them. “Wanna be my detecting buddy? You can hold the light.”

“Seriously?” 

Stiles chuckled. He closed the distance between them in two long strides and took her hand in his, laying it palm up. When he tipped his hand above hers the oscillating ball of flames landed against her skin with barely a whisper. It was cool and fluid as it danced in her cupped palm, her eyes wide with wonder and reflecting its light.

“Wow,” she breathed, rolling the fire around just to watch it flicker.

“Cool, huh?” Stiles smiled, already moving toward the back of the cave. 

Felicity fell in step beside him, sweeping her hand along the walls and toward the dirt floor as they walked, illuminating the shadows lingering there. The cave was mostly empty, its floor scattered with the picked-clean bones of a startling number of different creatures. She was pretty sure the remains included those of a cat or two, but she refused to even think about it. 

Against the deepest wall of the cave is where they found the actual nest portion of the Harpy’s lair. It was massive, easily the size of mid-size sedan, and built into a natural alcove in the stone. It glittered in some places when the light caught it, shining strands of metallic woven in with scraps of cloth, dried-out seaweed and other vegetation. 

“Gross,” Scott made a face, nose crinkling adorably at the smell engulfing them.

Felicity agreed. The whole cave reeked of death and the sea, but the nest itself was soaked in something so foul it made her eyes sting. Felicity let Stiles boost her up so she could haul herself into the alcove. 

“See if there are any footprints or anything around.” he suggested, squinting at the shadows dancing around them. “Maybe a business card or something.”

 

Snorting her amusement, Felicity moved deeper. She stepped around the nest and extended her hand into the darkness, peering into the swath illuminated by the fire. A pile of debris sat hidden between the back wall of the cave and the Harpy’s nest. Each article glittered in the dim light like individual flames, their metal surfaces polished to a high shine.

“Harpies are super into shiny shit.” Stiles replied when Felicity told him of her findings.

“Well, other than all the shiny, there isn’t much up here by way of clues.” 

“Let me try.” Stiles clambered up to join Felicity in the alcove. “There might still be traces of magic for me to find.”

She watched him squat beside the nest, hands extended toward it in concentration. He closed his eyes, drawing several deep breaths before blowing them out slowly. Soft yellow light glowed from the tips of his fingers and the palms of his hands. Felicity bit her lips together to stop the questions from pouring out.

“Nope,” Stiles huffed after a long moment. “No magic.”

Derek and Oliver approached them then, Scott, Jackson, and the others following a moment later. 

“What do you want to do?” 

Stiles frowned at Derek’s question. “I guess we should head back to the hotel. I need to eat something, and then I need to get started on identifying another method for tracking the mage.”

“What about a defensive plan?” Scott asked, arms crossed over his chest as though he were expecting resistance. “The mage barely broke a sweat last night, and that was with you at your peak. We have to assume the pack will need to defend itself if he comes at us again.”

Derek scratched at the edge of his jaw. “We have been pretty lax with training recently,” he acknowledged. “It’s been quiet for so long back home, training hasn’t been high on our list of priorities.”

Oliver cleared his throat, expression completely neutral though his eyes betrayed a spark of something Felicity thought looked a little like pride and a lot like eagerness. “I think I know the perfect place.”

 

*

 

The pack let out a collective whistle. Oliver stepped through the doorway he’d just opened, smiling to himself as the wolves poured into the gym space with appreciative gazes. Laurel and Lyla were already inside, running on a pair of treadmills in one corner while John and Thea competed on the Salmon Ladder. None of them payed much attention to the new arrivals, save for Laurel who looked suspiciously like she’d recently swallowed a bug. Oliver made a mental note to talk to her about the pack the moment an opportunity presented itself.

“This place is…”

“Fucking awesome?” Stiles supplied helpfully, munching on a candy bar and toeing at a rogue barbell someone left out on the mats.

“I was gonna say huge, but that works too.” Isaac murmured. 

Oliver waved a hand at the space, gesturing the pack to help themselves. There were all manner of gym equipment spread out around the cavernous space, with a wide-open area left in the room’s center for sparring. 

“You’re welcome to use whatever you need.” Scott and Derek shared a glance, one that made Oliver tilt his head questioningly. “Something wrong?”

“No,” Scott assured quickly. “It’s just… We don’t normally train like this.”

“Meaning?” 

“Human.” Derek shrugged when Oliver and Felicity’s eyes swung in his direction. “Most of the time when we actually have to fight, it’s not in our human form. It never made sense to train as humans if we weren’t going to be fighting that way.”

“Oh,” Felicity nodded, understanding. “That’s totally okay too! Feel free to wolf it up or whatever it is you need to do. Unless you don’t want an audience, of course.”

“Would you be more comfortable if we weren’t here?” Oliver offered, ready to clear everyone out if need be.

“It doesn’t matter one way or the other,” Derek shook his head. “We’re all comfortable in our wolves’ skin.”

“But,” Stiles interjected, “seeing the entire pack shift at once might be a little too much for someone who’s never seen it.”

Oliver didn’t need the head-tilt and purposefully wide-eyed side glance to get the message. Laurel hadn’t reacted well to Stiles’ earlier display of magic. It could prove both jarring and terrifying for her if the wolves all shifted without warning.

“If we’re going to be fighting together it’s probably a good idea for all of us to get comfortable with your different forms.”

“Agreed.”

“I’ll talk to Laurel,” Felicity offered, already heading in their direction. “Don’t change until I’m done though,” she warned. “I want to see.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Stiles saluted her with yet another candy bar.

 

*

 

Convincing Laurel to hang around while the wolves practiced was much easier than Felicity anticipated. She didn’t put up much resistance, explaining that she’d had time to do some research via the pack’s database and was thoroughly prepared for whatever needed to happen.

“Alrighty then,” Felicity grinned at the pack as she returned to them. “We are one thousand percent ready to watch werewolf wrestling.”

Oliver tried to cover his laughter with a cough. He failed.

“What?” she questioned, hands at her hips.

Stiles put an arm around her shoulders and guided her toward one side of the room, away from the rest of the pack. “Wrestling is fake, Felicity,” he reminded her. “This is the furthest thing from it.”

She frowned, considering. “Point taken.” 

By the time the pack had divided itself and Felicity’s team into smaller groups, Laurel and Thea had found seats nearby and the four of them watched together as Derek and Scott gave directives. Felicity was proud of Oliver for following their lead with none of the expected snark.

“Does it hurt?” Laurel asked suddenly, her eyes fixed on where Erica was undressing, her own eyes already glowing Gold.

“Shifting?” When Laurel nodded, Stiles shrugged. “A little. I only get echoes of it, but Derek says they don’t even feel it after a while.”

“Is that because it stops hurting, or they just get used to the pain?”

Stiles smiled at Thea’s question. There was experience in her words, something that told of pain she’d long ago grown accustom to. 

“Hard to say,” he admitted. “I’d guess the latter, though, since I still feel it when they shift.”

“Why don’t you block it?” Laurel asked. “You can do that, right—use your magic like a shield?”

Humming his agreement, Stiles watched Laurel’s eyes widen and shine in awe when Derek disappeared and a giant black wolf stood in his place. “I could,” he admitted, “but blocking out the pain means blocking out the euphoria that comes with it. Trust me when I tell you, the sense of freedom and completion the wolves get when they shift isn’t something you can let go of all that easily.”


End file.
